


Ghosts

by Karmi



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Anxiety, Conspiracy, Depression, F/M, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Online Friendship, Past Abuse, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Sexual Assault, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Self-Harm, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karmi/pseuds/Karmi
Summary: Forced to move away for his senior year, Cloud is determined to keep his head down and count the days until he can go back home, while also grieving the loss of something important. He meets Tifa, a new classmate who yearns for the day she can leave this miserable town behind and her past along with it. She doubts it will ever stop haunting her, but she has to keep fighting. He only has to stay out of trouble for one year. She only needs to survive.
Relationships: Cloud Strife & Vincent Valentine, Tifa Lockhart & Vincent Valentine, Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Yuffie Kisaragi & Tifa Lockhart, Zack Fair & Cloud Strife
Comments: 162
Kudos: 181





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> So, as you may have discerned from the tags, this is going to be a pretty heavy fic that deals with some triggering themes and elements. I'm going to make sure I include a warning at the beginning of every applicable chapter to give you all an additional heads-up for what that chapter contains. 
> 
> I decided a while ago to completely change my high school AU idea, so here it is. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> This story's tissues are sponsored by SKEvans. Please direct all concerns to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW//  
> implied/referenced suicide  
> referenced self-harm

To Cloud, it feels like he’s been in the store for hours, staring at glittering trinkets and jewelry. There are plenty that shine brightly at him, and just as many that are plain and affordable \- what he wants is to find something that strikes a balance between the two.

“Find something you like yet, sir?”

Cloud scratches the trio of earrings in his left lobe and stands up straight to look the store clerk in the eye. She stares back at him with that typical customer service smile, but it’s tighter when pointed at him. She glances between him and the display case, her forefinger tapping on the glass in a steady rhythm as she awaits his answer. He notices other customers throwing quick looks his way as they come in, and he knows he sticks out in a place like this. Everyone in the store is neatly put together, with well-trimmed hair and carefully assembled outfits. He thought maybe his earrings and the eyebrow piercing above his right eye would show he has his own interest in jewelry. Perhaps it’s not to their more distinguished liking.

Maybe she figures he’s only here to cause trouble.

“Not yet. Thanks, though,” Cloud says dismissively and watches her nod and walk away. She gives him sidelong glances as she assists a couple nearby. He tries his best to ignore her and moves on to another glass display case.

This one is full of charm bracelets. He fingers the beads around his right wrist in thought, wondering if she would like something similar. There are just so many _different kinds_. Silver ones, black ones, gold ones; ones with stones and gems, some with little bobbles, some with symbols and animals—

Cloud’s eyes rest on a silver double bangle with twisted, interlocking bands. The single charm on it is also silver and in the shape of a chocobo no bigger than his thumb. His lips curve upward the tiniest bit, and he raises his head to find the clerk again. Luckily, she’s already standing right in front of him on the other side of the case.

“How much is the one with the chocobo?” Cloud points to the bracelet in question.

She bends down and unlocks the case, delicately taking the jewelry out and holding it up for him to see. The gentle lights of the store glitter softly against the bracelet, but not so much it blinds or distracts him.

“This one is 10,000 Gil,” she says in a clipped tone.

His heart thumps to the floor.

“But we’re having a sale on all of our charm bracelets. It’s 60% off if you buy one charm to go with it.”

Cloud rubs the back of his neck. “How much is a charm?”

She waves him over to the next display. Her well-manicured nail taps the glass, bringing his attention to several similarly sized objects. They seem to be ordered by price, with the ones closest to him being smaller and less detailed—and therefore more comfortably within his price range.

“Starting here, these charms are 1,000 Gil each.”

Cloud looks at a few of them, counting his money in his head. He did a lot of extra jobs over the past few weeks in order to be able to afford something nice, but he didn’t know women’s jewelry could be so expensive.

He scans the charms near him. Cloud spots different chocobo and moogle charms, and takes a moment to consider them. Some are cartoonish, while others have an intricate level of detail. He indicates a moogle about the same size and design as the chocobo already on the bracelet, deciding to go for consistency. Both charms lean towards cutesy, but he remembers her collection of stuffed animals and figures that would be the way to go.

“How much is that one?”

“1500 Gil.”

Cloud hums and nods his head.

“I’ll take them, then.”

The clerk lets out a deep sigh and removes the moogle charm from the case. Cloud feels irritation at the relief that washes over her face and follows her to the register.

“Would you like for me to put the moogle charm on?”

He nods again, eyes narrow.

She snips the tags off and gently lays the bracelet in a silver box after snapping the second charm on. The box goes into a small bag, and she rings him up. He pays, counting the money out of his wallet, before shoving it in his pocket. He takes the bag from the counter.

“Thanks,” he says, departing the store before she can say anything else to him. The way she spoke to him grated on his nerves.

Cloud whips his phone out as he walks to the train station and pulls up his messaging app. His heart sinks a little when he sees she still hasn’t replied, but he tries not to think too hard about it. As he waits at the platform, he types a new message.

**f: hey, you okay? i know you were stressed a few days ago. you know you can talk to me.**

Whirring from the tunnel alerts him, and he looks up just as the train honks its approach. He chews the side of his lip as he stares at his message, then adds more.

**f: i have something for you btw. where can i send it?**

Cloud puts his phone away as he boards the train. He always loses service in the tunnels of this part of the city, so no point in watching for a reply. Staring at his phone on the train always made his motion sickness worse, anyway. He finds a seat and puts the jewelry bag inside his backpack before leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Out of habit, he counts the stops as he rides, massaging his right arm. It’s throbbing a little, which he’s come to expect when going underground.

Twenty minutes pass before his stop is announced. Cloud waits until the train comes to a complete halt before getting up, steadying himself using the poles, and walking out. As he climbs out of the station and turns toward a familiar cluster of apartment buildings, he lifts his phone out of his pocket and checks his messages.

**l: im sorry.**

Cloud stops and stares at the screen, brow furrowed. He reads the next message.

**l: you were an amazing friend to me. thank you fenny. for everything. im sorry.**

He blinks. Someone curses at him to get out of the way because he’s blocking the sidewalk. Cloud scowls at them and leans against the building.

_Were…?_

He doesn’t take his eyes off the messages as he processes them. His eyes grow wide when he sees they were sent fifteen minutes prior.

_Oh no._

**f: hey. are you there?**

A gray circle indicates she’s offline. She has been since her last message was sent.

_No no no._

He gulps, typing quickly.

**f: what’re you sorry for? what happened?**

He waits. His message from before he got on the train remains the last one read.

Keeping his phone in hand, Cloud pushes away from the wall and trudges home. He glances at the screen every few seconds, but nothing changes.

It doesn’t take long before he arrives at the apartment he shares with his mom. He takes his keys out and unlocks the door, eyes still on his phone. As he kicks his shoes off, he scrolls up through the messages, not sure what he’s looking for.

**l: fenny, if someone asked you to do something you didnt want to do, but you need something from them in return… would you do it?**

**f: depends. how bad do i need it?**

**l: pretty bad.**

**f: idk. i try not to rely on others if i can help it.**

**l: i know but…**

**f: can i get what i need without them?**

**l: …no**

**f: is something wrong?**

That was several days ago. She’d never responded, and he’d been worried but hadn’t wanted to press it. Now he wishes he had.

“Cloud, honey? That you?”

Claudia Strife appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her long blonde hair is up in a bun, and she’s dressed in her scrubs. He sets his lips in a firm line to hide his worry. She watches him for a moment, a question on her lips.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would be home from physical therapy. How was it?”

“Fine.”

Cloud closes the door to his room behind him, careful not to let it slam, cutting off the conversation. He can’t talk to her right now, his mind preoccupied with what could possibly be happening on the other side of his screen. He can’t explain to his mother what was going on - she didn’t know he spoke to anyone online. Not extensively, anyway. It would take too much to try and explain the nature of this relationship, and Cloud isn’t sure he has the patience to. So, he doesn’t say anything, deciding Claudia wouldn’t understand. This is an issue he has to figure out on his own.

Plopping down on his bed, Cloud scrolls even further up the message thread. He settles on a conversation from two weeks before.

**l: i did it again… i freaked out for no fucking reason. i hate this.**

**f: why didnt you message me? you know im here.**

**l: i know i just… i didnt want to bother you. im sorry.**

**f: dont apologize. and youre never bothering me. i just want you to be okay.**

**l: i know. im trying.**

_What could she be apologizing for now?_

His mind races with so many possibilities, it makes the room spin. The phone becomes unfocused, the words and images blurred. His forearm throbs in time with his heart along the recently healed fracture, and he feels like it’s too fast. He doesn’t know how much time passes before his mother knocks on his door.

“Cloud?”

He quickly sits up on one elbow, massaging his arm as his mother opens the door and eyes him.

“Dinner is in the oven. I’m on my way to work, okay?”

Cloud only nods, a lump in his throat.

“Your arm okay?”

“Y-yeah.” He stops rubbing it. “I’m fine.”

She watches him for a minute longer, concern swimming in her eyes. With a sigh, she goes to shut the door behind her.

“Be safe mom.”

She turns back with a soft smile. “Love you too.”

A moment later, the front door closes. Silence settles over the apartment. Cloud stares at the ceiling, his phone next to him, his head buzzing.

_Why is she sorry?_

He recounts conversation after conversation, his chest tightening from fear. He breathes in; his eyes sting as he brings the phone up to his face.

**f: hey, talk to me. why are you sorry? did something happen?**

That fucking gray circle is still next to her name. He holds the device against his chest and watches the ceiling as if it has the answers.

_Please say something. Anything. Let me know you’re alright. Please don’t—_

A shrill beeping breaks him out of his spiral. Cloud lets out a shuddering breath and sits up, slowly blinking in confusion as he tries to determine what it is. He throws his legs over the side of the bed and ambles up, clutching his desk. The room tilts, but he grabs on to the doorknob to steady himself. His eyes go back to the screen as he lurches the door open.

Nothing. No response, no indication that she’s even seen his messages.

From the living room, he can tell the noise comes from the kitchen. Cloud lumbers toward it, turning the corner to see numbers on the microwave flashing in time with the beeping. His mom must have set a timer; she either realized he was distracted by something, or knew him well enough to expect he’d forget.

Cloud shuffles over and turns the timer off. He shakes his head, trying to clear it as he grabs two dish towels and opens the oven. A glass dish with a casserole sits inside. His stomach rumbles at the sight, the scent of peppers and spices filling his nose, but he can’t bring himself to take it out. He can only stare.

He closes the oven door and turns it off so the food won’t burn.

_What if she…?_

He growls, shaking his head to dislodge the thought, but instead, a flood of them come through.

_Is she hurting herself?_

_She’s gonna drown herself._

_Is she jumping off a cliff?_

_She’s gonna slit her wrists._

He grabs his phone and slides down against the counter as he unlocks it and focuses on the screen.

Silence.

**f: please get back online. talk to me. come back, please.**

The sinking feeling that there’s nothing—absolutely nothing—he can do grows in his stomach until it becomes a bottomless pit. He hunches over the device in his hand, his only path to her, and wonders what he should have done differently. His thoughts descend into darkness as he sinks further into his fears, and he can hear himself wheezing.

_She can’t be dead, can she?_

He stands on the edge of despair at the thought of losing one of his only friends, then chastises himself for being so selfish.

_Is she dead? She can’t be dead. Please don’t be dead._

For years he’s tried to be there for her, listening whenever she needed to talk about anything at all. He’d tried to be enough, but there was only so much he could offer behind a screen.

He couldn’t truly help her.

Cloud drops his phone into his lap and holds his face in his hands. His next breath comes out in a shudder, his body trembling all over. He gulps down hard and picks his phone back up, but it blurs with everything else, becoming an indistinct shape.

He can’t help. He can’t help. He can’t—


	2. Play Nice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you were not happy with me because of how the Prologue ended and well... I'm sorry.  
> But look! Here's more! Isn't that exciting?

A shrill, intermittent noise echoes in the back of his mind, slowly rising in volume until it shrieks right into his ear.

Cloud’s eyes snap open and he looks to his left. His phone flashes, commanding him to start his day. With a deep breath, he sits up and slams his hand with too much force. A tingle shoots up his arm, and he pulls his phone back with a wince.

An eerie silence weighs on him as he gazes around the unfamiliar room. It’s twice the size of his room back home, and all the empty space highlights the loneliness he’s felt recently. He doesn’t have many friends or people he can rely on to begin with, but now, in this foreign place, he finally feels the burden of his isolation.

Cloud looks at the boxes littering the floor. Only one is open, clothes falling over the cardboard edges, and he recalls going through it to find something decent to sleep in before crashing. He hadn’t felt like cleaning up or unpacking after finishing such a long trip, made doubly exhausting by his motion sickness. While trying not to vomit all over the van had kept him busy, it hadn’t stopped his tumultuous emotions from assailing him. The anger and sadness had been particularly brutal. Anger at himself for being such an idiot _again_ and getting himself into more trouble; sadness at the things he’s lost in the past months. He’d barely said anything to his aunt and uncle as they had showed him to his room last night. Not that he was really in the mood to chat anyway after everything. He needed some time to himself — he needed to think about where he was and what exactly he was doing. Sleep had caught up to him before he really had a chance to do so, and considering his state of mind, it might have been for the better.

A door slams downstairs. Cloud blearily looks toward the entrance of his room as footsteps climb up into the loft. An older man stops at the top of the steps. There’s a hard glint in his eye as he stares at Cloud, who can feel his uncle’s aggravation from across the room. A cigarette smokes out of the corner of his mouth.

“We’re makin’ breakfast. Wash up and meet me downstairs when you’re ready. Don’t keep me waitin’ all morning.”

His uncle doesn’t wait for his response, instead clambering back down and slamming the door behind him. Cloud groans in annoyance, wondering why the hell Cid decided to let him stay there in the first place if he is just going to be an ass. He rubs his face and tosses his legs over the side of the bed, cursing as his foot knocks against a box. It might have been a good idea to clean up a little last night after all. He carefully makes his way through the maze of boxes to the bathroom.

Cloud doesn’t dawdle, showering quickly. He doesn’t care about the old man’s warning; he’s more concerned with getting bogged down in his turmoil. More and more, Cloud wishes he had stayed up last night to unpack and get his emotions in order, get the thinking over with. Now he avoids his gaze in the mirror, afraid to see what his face looks like, pacing as he brushes his teeth. After spitting into the sink, he catches a glimpse of himself.

Dark circles underline his eyes, which doesn’t surprise him considering the lack of sleep he’s been getting. The chaos so visibly raging within his eyes is what alarms Cloud and makes him pause — anyone staring too long would see how much of a mess he is. He can’t go to school like this. In his experience, kids can sense vulnerability and weakness a mile away. He won’t give them the satisfaction of putting that label on him from the start.

Cloud splashes water on his face until he feels more awake and able to control himself. The green flecks near his pupils flash as he swallows down his unrest, his eyes turning hard. He sets his features into a neutral grimace, then removes his eyebrow piercing. He takes out the wolf’s head and two cuff earrings in his left lobe and the one at the top of his ear. They go into a tiny bowl on the sink next to his toothbrush; he typically gets more stares at school when he wears his jewelry, and he’s sure to get enough already.

After taking another close look at himself, Cloud dries off and exits the bathroom.

He rummages around to find jeans, a white band logo t-shirt, and a black and white pair of skate shoes. His uncle bangs loudly on the door.

“You ready yet?”

“Yeah yeah, I’m comin’, old man,” Cloud grumbles to himself.

He doesn’t waste time, running his hands through his hair, hoping it doesn’t dry messily. Grabbing his backpack and brace, he gallops down the stairs, opening the door to the semi-permanent scowl of his host.

Cid Highwind isn’t even that old. His blonde hair is cropped close to the scalp and his lively eyes aren’t very different from Cloud’s or his mother’s — the color of the sea. His uncle is only a couple of inches taller than him, but enough to make him tilt his head back when he’s standing too close. Cloud grimaces as he glares up at Cid and finds himself thinking his uncle might not look so old if he didn’t frown so much.

Cid drops a pair silver keys in Cloud’s hand. “Lock it.”

On the nearby workbench is an ashtray where he snuffs out his cigarette. Cloud sees two more still faintly smoking. He follows Cid past a car and through the garage.

“You know those things’ll kill you, right?”

Cid glowers over his shoulder as he opens the front door.

“Probably not before I kill you, little twerp.”

Cid leads Cloud down the road. They leave the conversation there, spending the next five minutes in silence. Cloud takes the time to fasten his brace around his wrist, securing it tightly and flexing his fingers. That uncomfortable tingle returns, slowly seeping along his recently healed fracture, though muted with the protection of the brace. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes in the modest neighborhood of mostly one-story houses. The differences in architecture remind him of how far away from home he is. Things are so much smaller here than back in Midgar. There, most buildings are at least three or four stories tall — the apartments he and his mom live in are ten stories alone. He hasn’t seen a lot of free-standing homes like this before, since in Midgar, the majority are in old areas or suburbs, places he didn’t frequent often. Cloud can’t help being amused when he notices that some of the houses even have white picket fences around them.

The Highwind home fits in with the rest with its yellow wood-paneling on the front-facing side. A brown fence encloses a modest front yard, and Cloud can also see a back yard. Cid opens the gate, muttering about mowing the lawn, and Cloud follows him inside. Cid instructs him to remove his shoes as he kicks off his own, then continues down the hallway into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” a brown-haired woman greets as she waves at Cloud. She kisses Cid on the cheek.

“Mornin’, Shera.”

Cloud slides into the breakfast nook near the window.

“Morning, Aunt Shera.”

“Is the apartment to your liking?” she asks him from the stove.

Before Cloud can answer, Cid sets a small ceramic plate and a cup of tea in front of him.

“The room is fine,” his uncle says.

“I can speak for myself.”

The older man slams a tray onto the table; the tea pot and cups on top clatter from the impact.

“Don’t get fuckin’ cute with me, boy. You’re lucky I took your sorry ass in.”

Cloud leans back in his seat, an arm slung across the back of the chair.

“Yeah, thank you _so_ much for the hospitality, Uncle Cid.”

At his side, Cid’s hands ball into fists, but Shera puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes in warning.

“You’re going to get your blood pressure up.”

Cid grumbles, reaching inside his jacket for a pack of cigarettes as he sits. Shera sighs and sets a plate of food for Cloud, along with a second tray with butter and jam before going back into the kitchen.

“Let me lay down some ground rules for you,” Cid growls, one hand over the cigarette as he flicks the lighter and takes a drag. “No house parties. I run a business, not a club. Soon as I see more than two people gathered in here, you’re out.”

He blows smoke out of the window as Shera sits down on his other side with two more plates. Cid pours their tea and takes a sip.

“No stealing from me. I will notice, and I will toss your ass out of here.”

Cloud rolls his eyes and looks down at his plate. Two slices of toast, eggs, and sausage stare back up at him. He reaches over to grab the knife for the grape jam.

“Nobody spending the night. You’re here to serve your probation, and this ain’t a whore house.”

Cloud chokes as he slaps the jelly onto his toast. “No need to worry about that…” he mutters. He doesn’t plan on making too many friends while he’s here, and especially none of that variety.

Cid chooses to ignore the comment. “Do your fuckin’ schoolwork and stay out of trouble. You get into any shit, and I’ll—”

“Toss my ass out, yeah.” Cloud takes a bite. “I got that part.”

The lopsided grin on Cid’s face is a stark contrast to his rough exterior. “Good. I don’t like repeatin’ myself. And I _will_ be reportin’ back to your mama so don’t think you can be slick around here.”

Shera watches Cloud sharply.

“You can ride with me to school. We’ll get you sorted out with the principal, and then you’re off to class. Sound good?”

Cloud stares for a second, his mouth full of eggs and sausage, then nods as he resumes eating. She smirks at his inability to answer, and Cloud realizes she’s the smart one.

* * *

The ride to school feels longer than it should because of Shera’s need to talk his ear off about the town.

“That’s the main square. Most big events and celebrations are held there.”

Cloud sees a few banners waving on the poles. He can only decipher that they say something about school. He watches the buildings pass by, only hearing every other word as his mind wanders. 

“It’s gotten a lot busier over the years.”

_This town doesn’t know busy._

There’s moderate traffic on their way to school, but nothing like the bumper-to-bumper mess he’s used to at this time of morning.

“…and they plan on building a new school next year with that money.”

_And by next year, I’ll be back in Midgar._

They pull into a parking spot labeled **S. Highwind**. Shera turns to him as she shuts off the ignition.

“You weren’t listening, were you?”

Cloud grabs his backpack and opens the door. “Sorry. I’m just not interested.”

Shera jogs up beside him, pushing her thick glasses up her nose. “I get that you don’t want to be here.” She pauses, her hand stretched out to the door handle, staring straight at him. “But if you put in some effort, you might make the next year a lot easier on yourself.”

He scoffs, hoisting his bag over one shoulder. “I go to school, I do my work, I come back to the shop.” When she doesn’t make a move to go inside, he adds, “I really don’t need to do much more than that.”

Shera sighs as she opens the door and leads him in. There is still half an hour left before school starts, so there aren’t many students lingering in the hallways. Some stare at him, leaning into one another as he passes by.

_“Is that the new kid?”_

_“The one from Midgar right?_

_“I thought he was from Junon.”_

Cloud keeps his eyes forward and can’t help but think high school is the same everywhere. Inside the front office, Shera nods to several teachers before proceeding down a hallway to the secretary’s desk at the back. Along the wall are several chairs for people to wait in.

“I’m here to see Principal Heidegger. It’s about our new student.”

Cloud stares at her, noting her change in tone. She’s more serious now than she had been with him.

“He should be available in just a minute,” the secretary says.

They opt to stand in the middle of the room as they wait. Cloud stuffs his hands in his pockets. A minute passes before the secretary picks up her phone, says a few words, then puts it down.

“Mr. Heidegger will see you now.”

Shera walks forward into the office. Something gnaws at the pit of Cloud’s stomach as he crosses the threshold and he makes sure to keep his expression neutral.

Principal Heidegger is a large man, both tall and stocky. He rises from his desk as they walk in. He shakes Shera’s hand, then reaches across the desk for Cloud’s, who hesitates for a second before removing his hand from his pocket to reciprocate the greeting.

“Mr. Strife. Let me welcome you to Nibelheim.”

Cloud nods, his hand safely back where it belongs.

“I understand you’re staying with Mrs. Highwind and her husband?”

“Yeah.”

Heidegger’s eyebrow twitches minutely – Cloud wonders if he imagines it – as he sits back in his chair, his arms resting on the sides.

“I’ve looked through your file. You get good grades, but you’re always in trouble. Why is that?”

Cloud doesn’t answer. He doesn’t really have one to give.

Heidegger scrutinizes at a page in his hand, then puts it down. “They’ve sent you here for probation as a final warning?”

Cloud fights the urge to shuffle his foot, not wanting to hint at his nerves. Instead, he locks eyes with the man across the desk.

“I guess so.”

Heidegger’s mustache twitches.

“You were born here, weren’t you?”

Cloud blinks. Just how much was in that file?

“Yeah,” he says, maintaining his detached tone.

“Well, my boy.” The principal leans forward, fingers lacing in front of his face. “I expect you to play nice. From what I can tell, you moved away when you were young, so maybe you don’t know how things work in a small town. But we don’t need big city troublemakers disrupting our community and bringing any kind of shame or scrutiny down on us – is that understood?”

Cloud’s brow furrows for a moment. Shame? He scoffs. “You don’t have to worry about me. I want to go back home as soon as I can.”

Heidegger’s smile reminds Cloud of the maw of a beast.

“You’re aware of how… precarious your situation is here, correct?”The principal lowers his hands on the desk. “They expelled you from your previous school because of your behavior. We accepted you, but only because you have family here who can keep a close eye on you.” He nods to Shera. “I will not hesitate to toss you out of here and hand you over to the police if you slip up. Is that clear?”

Cloud digs his nails into his palm and bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. He wasn’t expecting this first conversation with the principal to be pleasant, but his threats make him want to scream. Heidegger isn’t the first authority figure to speak to him this way, and he likely won’t be the last. But that doesn’t make this interaction any less infuriating.

And all that shit about him being born there? And his grades? Cloud begins to suspect Heidegger is showing him how much he knows on purpose. He swallows down his rage and takes a deep breath before answering.

“Understood.”

“Good. Keep that in mind, and we should get along just fine. You’re a smart boy. Devote your time to your studies.”

They discuss the school rules and Heidegger’s expectations for close to an hour, then move on to Cloud’s schedule. The principal hands him a sheet with a list of classes and rooms, as well as a map of the school.

“You’ll be in Mrs. Highwind’s math class since she had an extra seat. She’ll take you straight there - first period is nearly over. You’ll meet your literature teacher, Ms. Scarlet, on Wednesday. We operate on a block.”

Cloud flips the schedule over, then studies the map, comparing the two.

“Any issues?” the principal asks him.

He shakes his head. “No. I think I can figure this out pretty easily.”

Heidegger stands and presents his hand across the desk. “Good. Very good.”

Cloud shakes, but as he goes to pull his hand away, he feels Heidegger’s grip tighten too much to be friendly.

“I hope I don’t see you in here this year.”

Cloud suppresses the growl rising in his throat.

“Likewise.”

He feels a pressure release in his chest, and breathing becomes easier once they are out of the office. Shera leads him around the secretary’s desk but comes to an abrupt stop. She turns and cautiously approaches a girl sitting in a chair before the desk. The girl’s eyes flicker up to watch Shera come closer, but she barely acknowledges her otherwise. Her dark hair hides most of her face. She scratches her forearm through her sleeves, then grips her hands tightly in her lap.

Shera looks back at Cloud. “Could you wait for me out front? I’ll only be a minute.”

He nods, shuffling down the hallway. As he passes them, he hears Shera asking the girl about her health and mentioning tutoring. Cloud wonders if the girl is sickly, but dismisses the thought not long after. He has enough of his own things to worry about.

At the front of the office, several teachers greet him and welcome him to the school, wishing him well for the year. He gives them short responses, relieved to see they don’t all seem to be hardasses like Heidegger.

Five minutes later, Shera emerges from the back. They walk out of the main office and down the hall to a large set of double doors. Beyond them is a flight of stairs.

“Most of the kids know each other already, as you can assume,” she tells him as they climb.“You’ll have to introduce yourself—”

“No way.”

At the top of the stairs, Shera opens another pair of doors. “Cloud, this will be your chance to tell them about yourself. Get ahead of the rumors. I’m sure you know how kids can be.”

He sucks on his teeth. “Tell them what?”

She hums, her middle finger pushing her glasses up again. “Things you like to do in your free time, hobbies, like baseball—”

“Are the other kids gonna invite me to join them if I do?” he asks, annoyed. His aunt really wants him to fit in here, and he can’t fathom why. Fitting in has never really been his strong suit, and it’s not going to start now.

Shera halts, her palm on the knob of a classroom door. Her name is etched on the side of the frame with the room number underneath it.

“I am just trying to make this as easy for you as I can.”

“Don’t make me get up in front of the class. That would make this _real_ easy for me.”

She unlocks the door and steps inside. Cloud is close behind her.

“Your seat is in the back, second from the window.”

He adjusts his backpack, watching her as she shuffles a few things around on her desk. The blackboard has a seating chart drawn across it, and he notes a blank square in the last row. His seat.

“Go ahead and get comfortable. The bell is going to—”

A lengthy, high-pitched note plays over the speakers, cutting her off. She opens her desk drawer and removes a book.

Cloud sighs as he moves between the rows. He takes his seat and lifts his backpack into his lap, rummaging through it. His fingers brush against something papery, and when he recognizes it, he yanks his hand back like he’s been burned.

A small white bag with an embroidered label is inside, weighted down by a textbook. He swallows the lump forming in his throat. The door opens and students begin to pile in. It’s all chatter and noise in the hall, throngs of people talking and laughing as they migrate to their next class. The ones who entered stop at the front and study the chart, say hello to Shera, and find their seats. A couple of eyes rest on Cloud. Some are more obvious as they point him out to their friends. He pulls his math book out with shaky hands before gently placing the backpack on the floor next to him.

 _Please. Please don't_ _be broken._

Memories flash through his mind, and he clenches his fist in his lap.

**_you were an amazing friend to me. thank you fenny. for everything. im sorry._ **

_There'_ _s no one to send it to now._

A few minutes later, another bell sounds. Shera closes the door and stands at the front with a wide grin on her face.

“Good morning, everyone! I hope you all had a great summer. I recognize most of you, but if you don’t know me, I am Mrs. Highwind.”

He watches her, his heel tapping soundlessly against the ground. Her eyes meet his and she focuses on him for a second too long. Cloud grips his desk tightly, sucking in a breath.

_Don't_ _._

“I expect everyone to do their best this year. I know this is your last year, but don’t let senioritis kick in too early.”

Her gaze strays from Clouds. Shera picks up a stack of papers and distributes them to the front of each row. She starts to explain the syllabus and calendar for the year, and when it becomes clear she won’t call on him, Cloud relaxes.

As he turns toward the window, he notices that the seat next to him is empty. Cloud checks the board and finds a name written in the spot, but between his distance from the front and Shera’s less than neat handwriting, it’s hard to read. Ten minutes go by, and they still haven’t come to claim it.

Shera spends most of the time going over expectations for the year and introducing the projects they will have to complete. By the time class ends, Cloud realizes he dozed off while staring out into the courtyard. The students around him quickly gather their things and shuffle out, some running into the students who are filtering in. A couple yell and greet each another, clogging up the exit as they chat. The hallways are alive again as students move on to next period.

Cloud looks at his schedule to find his class as he picks up his bag. Shera stops him before he can leave.

“Meet me back here once school lets out, okay?”

“Yeah. And… thanks.”

She smiles, tucking a thick lock of hair behind her ear. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be mowing the lawn every weekend.” He gapes at her. “Go on, before you’re late. You can get to the gym through the courtyard. It’s near the back of the school’s campus.”

Cloud almost wants to laugh, his impression of Shera improving as the day goes on. He heads out of the classroom, strolling down the closest flight of stairs. Once out of the main building he turns, heading for the back of the school. Cloud isn’t entirely sure where he’s going, but as he moves through a courtyard, he hopes the gymnasium sticks out from the other structures on campus. Everything - the tables, the large folded umbrellas, the banners - are either crimson, black, or white. A large sign in the breezeway reads: **WELCOME BACK STUDENTS!**

_What a joke._

Cloud continues his trek down the walkway past a building. He spots an open door giving him a glimpse inside of the gymnasium - waxed wood floors and a mass of students in old t-shirts and shorts. Cloud curses, realizing he doesn’t have any appropriate clothes to change into. He’d been so rushed this morning he forgot about the possibility of having gym class.

A glance at his schedule tells him the name of his coach: **O** **’** **Connor**. Cloud shoves the schedule back inside of his backpack and walks inside the gym.

He immediately feels the stares once he crosses the threshold. He hears someone whisper about the _big city kid_.

_“I heard he assaulted a guy.”_

_“Really? I thought he held up a store or something.”_

_“He got expelled from his other school, right?”_

Cloud keeps his gaze forward, walking up to a middle-aged man with balding, graying black hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache that twitches as he shouts at students to fall in line. He turns to Cloud, his lower lip curling downward as he approaches.

“Why the hell aren’t you dressed?” His deep voice echoes throughout the gym, drawing the attention of nearby students. They stop their conversations and fall silent, watching them.

Cloud bites down on his tongue, giving himself a second to reign in his annoyance.

“I didn’t know my schedule until this morning.” Cloud fidgets with his brace. “I’m looking for Coach O’Connor.”

The man rubs his chin. “You’re lookin’ at him.”

The bell rings. Students migrate toward the bleachers on the far side. A few still drift in from the changing rooms.

“Alright, new kid—”

“Cloud.”

O’Connor blinks. “Excuse me?”

“My _name_ _’_ _s_ Cloud.”

The coach steps into Cloud’s space. Irritation flares as Cloud is forced to tilt his head back to look at him.

“Listen here, _Cloud_ ,” the man spits, “you better be prepared from this day on. Bring a lock for your locker, and you be out here and in line by five minutes after the bell. For today, you’ll sit out, but it’s reflecting on your grade.”

Cloud stands his ground, hard eyes unwavering. O’Connor looks at the students lining up.

“Rufus Shinra! Raise your hand!”

Cloud follows the man’s gaze to a blonde boy in the center of a group. The boy laughs at something one of his friends said, then steps forward and raises his hand.

“See him?” O’Connor points down the row. “In line up, we sit alphabetically by last name. You’ll be right behind him.”

So the coach did know his name. Asshole.

“Now go sit down. And make sure you play nice, got that?”

Other coaches call their classes to order, telling kids to get ready for an attendance check. Cloud strides off toward Rufus, who is climbing the bleachers to settle into one of the rows. Cloud sits down behind him, his backpack between his legs. He doesn’t bother to say anything, and Rufus doesn’t offer a greeting.

As O’Connor begins to call attendance, someone taps Cloud on the shoulder. He glances behind him. A girl with thick, curly brown hair gazes at him with interest, her mouth forming an enticing grin. He grunts and faces forward, but she pokes him again.

“What?” he whispers, looking back at her.

“Hi,” she says. “You’re the guy from Midgar, right?”

“Was I that easy to spot?”

She giggles, ignoring his deadpan tone.

“I’m Priscilla.” Before she can say anything else, Coach O’Connor calls her name and she answers, “Present!” Leaning closer to Cloud, she asks, “I’m the Student Body President, and I wanted to welcome you to Nibelheim.”

Rufus shouts “Present!” in front of him. O’Connor calls his name next and he responds.

“Cloud Strife? That’s a cool name.”

Cloud sniffs dismissively. “Thanks.”

“And I’d be more than happy to show you around town if you need to get better acquainted with the area.”

He opens his mouth to reject her offer, but Coach O’Connor starts barking instructions.

“Listen up! Coach Corneo has an announcement!”

A man stands in the middle of the gym floor. He’s mostly bald, save for a curly, dark blonde patch. From the tone in his arms and legs, Cloud thinks he must have been in shape at some point, maybe even an athlete, but years and age have granted him a bit of a potbelly. He’s dressed similarly to O’Connor, but is also sporting a pinky ring that flashes under the fluorescent lights of the gym.

Cloud holds in a snort, wondering what kind of coach wears jewelry like that.

“Good morning everyone,” Corneo says, his lips curling into a grin. It reminds Cloud of Heidegger’s. “Back to school means swim tryouts will be starting soon. I hope to see many of you return, and even some new faces. More information will be posted on the bulletin boards around school by the end of the week.”

O’Connor comes up next to him. “Alright! My class, we’re headed outside with Corneo’s. I wanna see you all _moving_ out there! Let’s go!”

A rumble disperses through the gym as the bleachers creak, students getting up and heading in their respective directions, conversations starting anew. Cloud grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulder as he makes his way down to follow the crowd outside.

“Oh hey, Cloud?”

Priscilla gives a friendly smile and shoves something into his palm. She’s standing a little too close and holding onto his hand for longer than Cloud would prefer.

“Give me a call later, hm? I’m pretty good at keeping my word.”

Cloud stares after Priscilla as she lets him go and waves her fingers at him. She falls in step with her friend who asks her in a low voice, “Think she’s gonna come back and try out this year?”

Priscilla scoffs. “She’d be really fucking bold if she did. I mean, we know how she was getting priority on races now.”

Cloud is surprised by her change in demeanor. Surely she thinks no one else can hear her.

“I just can’t believe it. I always thought she was a really good swimmer. Why would she need to do that?”

“Cause she’s a tramp.”

Someone bumps into Cloud, and he whips around with a scowl. A taller kid with long black hair and ruby eyes stares back at him, blinks as if he just noticed someone was in his path, then keeps walking. Another boy with red hair throws his arm around his shoulders and laughs once they step outside. Rufus chats them up as they walk toward the field.

The green space is big enough to fit both a baseball and softball field. On the end, past another gate, is an outdoor track with students jogging around in groups. Cloud crosses the open field, heading away from where the coaches are gathered. His arm throbs, and he massages the skin right above the brace as he passes by the in-field of the baseball area. He leans against the gate and removes the brace to flex his fingers, balling them into his palm several times. That familiar, uncomfortable sensation rides up his arm. The pain is sharper without the brace, and he winces, but continues the motions to stretch his muscles and nerves. After a minute, he puts the brace back on and squats down to unzip his backpack.

For a moment, he’d forgotten about the small bag inside, lost amongst his things. Now that no one is paying attention to him— _finally_ — he takes it out and removes the silver box that's inside. Cloud opens it to see that the bracelet is still intact, and relief washes over him.

His heart squeezes a second later as if someone’s holding it in a vice grip.

Cloud shoves the jewelry box inside of a pocket to make sure it doesn’t get trapped under anything else and closes the bag.

_Why didn’t I return this?_

Before he knows it, his phone is in his hand. He has a missed message, but he deflates when he realizes it’s not from _her_. He checks her thread anyway.

**come back, please.**

His prayers taunt him, as he remains the only one who’s seen the messages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still sad boi hours, sorry y'all.


	3. Friends Wouldn't Hurt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with an update~ Let's see what our young hero is up to now...
> 
> TW///  
> recreational cannabis use  
> referenced domestic abuse

For the rest of the week, Cloud comes to school, doesn’t say more than he has to, and keeps to himself. Students continue to point and stare, but as the days go on, they lose interest — or at the very least are more discrete. Some of his teachers are welcoming enough. Cloud figures he can stay out the way of the others, and hopefully they will stay out of his.

Cloud squats against the gate on the far side of the field again. A twinge runs down his arm to his fingers, and he scratches it over the brace, wishing he had a smoke. His phone buzzes, drawing his attention.

**ZF: yeah man, i was on janitorial duties for two WEEKS!**

**CS: that’s it? you didn’t get shipped off for a year zack.**

**ZF: THAT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING!**

Cloud scoffs at his friend’s dramatics. Zack is still the lucky one. He’s back home where he belongs, amongst people he knows and who support him. Cloud is aware Zack’s commanding officers will breathe down his neck for the foreseeable future, but at least the military decided they would deal with him themselves. On the other hand, Cloud didn’t have that kind of protection and had to move halfway across the world. He was already on strike ten, and his former principal had decided Cloud’s behavior wasn’t worth the trouble it brought the school — getting into a fight with the wrong people had its consequences.

A commotion draws his eyes to the baseball mound. Rufus stands in the middle, tossing a ball back and forth with the redhead who always accompanies him. A third kid with a shaved head stands next to Rufus, his attention on the others. They have an audience, and Cloud thinks the high schoolers weirdly resemble a cult. Girls point and wail whenever Rufus flashes a grin or throws a fancy spin on the ball. Boys laugh and watch with reverence. Even the redhead seems to have a little following, a group of girls who can’t take their eyes off of him.

Cloud’s brace gets suffocating as he watches Rufus pitch, and he removes it to rub his wrist and lessen the discomfort. Despite the casual setting and theatrics, Rufus throws with practiced form.

“That’s our team’s star pitcher.”

Cloud startles and stares up at the boy towering over him. He didn’t even hear him come up.

“That right?” he asks. His tone evens out as he regains his composure.

The other boy nods as he sits next to Cloud and takes a pack of cigarettes out of his shorts’ pocket. His long black hair is tied back, allowing Cloud to see his sharp features.

Cloud glances back at his phone to type a quick reply.

**CS: you’re such a baby.**

“Mind?”

Cloud shakes his head. “Won’t the coaches see you, though?”

The boy shrugs, then pauses before reaching inside of the pack. He looks at Cloud and tilts his head.

“Come on.”

He crosses the field, staying along the fence. Curiosity gnaws at Cloud. Something about the way the boy speaks to him — with ease, like he doesn’t care about Cloud’s status as the troublemaking new kid — makes Cloud want to see what he has to say. So he shoves his phone into his pocket, puts his brace back on, and follows him. There’s another gate on this end, away from the coaches, and the taller kid leads him through it. Cloud looks down the field, wondering if anyone sees them, but everyone is either focused on their own groups or on Rufus and his friends. Even the coaches are watching with something akin to adoration. Cloud isn’t sure if he’s more dumbfounded or disgusted by what he sees. He turns away and continues to follow the other boy.

When they’re halfway down an alley next to the gym, the boy finally takes his cigarettes out. “Cloud, right?”

He smacks the pack against his hand and a smoke pops up. Cloud raises a brow in surprise, recognizing what the boy is about to light up.

The kid flicks his lighter and inhales before removing the joint from his mouth and blowing away.

“Vincent.” He reaches out, the cigarette in hand. “Do you smoke?”

Cloud shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back against the opposite wall. “Not at school.”

“Hm.” Vincent holds the joint between two long fingers, watching his companion attentively. “I guess you’re on pretty thin ice already.”

“Am I?”

Vincent takes another long drag. “Kids aren’t whispering about you just because you’re new.”

Cloud doesn’t need to be told this. Throughout the week, he heard other students speculating about his record and what he did to get sent all the way out to the sticks. Some of the gossip is close, some of it is way off, but it did make him wonder — how do they even know he has a record?

“Someone leaked info about you,” Vincent says, puffing.

Questions assault him, and Cloud doesn’t know where to start. Who would even have the info to leak it? Administration, namely Principal Heidegger who knew way more about Cloud than he was comfortable with. But why would he leak it? And how? There’s no way the principal just gathered some kids together to give them Cloud’s file and instructed them to disseminate it amongst the student body. That would be ridiculous.

And Vincent said it matter-of-factly enough that Cloud wonders how much he knows.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Vincent shrugs. “Maybe I don’t like gossip.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

Vincent stares for a moment too long as he takes one last drag, then smushes the butt against the wall. “I was new at one point too. Maybe I can relate.”

Cloud almost wishes he had taken Vincent up on his offer as he flicks the joint away.

“I noticed Priscilla offering to show you around.”

Cloud grunts, taking his phone back out of his pocket. He flips it around in his hand. “Student Body President, right?”

Vincent tilts his head slightly in affirmation.

“Was the offer cause I’m special or does she show all the new kids around?”

“She asked me the same, but I don’t know about all the new students.”

“You take her up on it?”

The ghost of a smirk plays on Vincent’s lips. “Priscilla talks a lot, which, considering her position, is no surprise. But I also didn’t want her to have a reason to talk about me.”

Vincent’s words are obviously a heads up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Cloud reads the text flashing on the screen. **ZF: join the military and then tell me how much of a baby i am you little shit.** With a low chuckle, Cloud puts his phone back into his shorts pocket. He can almost feel the sting on his arm from one of Zack’s punches.

“A friend?”

“Back home, yeah. The one I got in trouble with, actually.” Cloud switches subjects before Vincent digs any deeper. “You’re in my history class too, right?”

Vincent crosses his arms. “Yes.”

“Is Palmer really that stuck up?”

“It’s worse than you think.”

Cloud scratches his jaw. “Got any advice?”

The smirk curls Vincent’s lips a bit more. “I’ve got advice on a lot of things.”

Before Cloud can ask, the coaches start shouting to get back inside and change. Vincent takes out his phone and hands it to Cloud.

“Give me your number.”

Cloud hesitates. Nothing about Vincent has given him reason not to trust him, and he does want to know more about their teachers.

And about the leaks.

He punches his digits into the device before handing it back.

“I’ll text you. If you need anything about our teachers let me know. Or if you ever need smokes.”

“You sell?” Cloud asks in amusement as Vincent leads him out of the alley.

Vincent grins as they mingle in with the other students, but he says nothing.

* * *

“You’re the new kid, right?”

The redhead that hangs around Rufus is behind Cloud in line and leaning a little too close for comfort. Cloud doesn’t bother with an answer; he moves up in the lunch line, giving his tray to the first server.

“Aw, don’t be like that. Just wanna welcome you to Nibel High. Possibly be a friend.”

Cloud takes his tray back. “I think I’m good, thanks.”

“The name’s Reno,” the kid replies, ignoring the dismissal. “And that’s Rude.”

Cloud snorts. “Sorry if I’m hurting your feelings.”

Reno stutters for a moment, then bursts into an obnoxious cackle. The bald kid in front of Cloud harrumphs in amusement.

“What’s funny?”

Reno points past him and at the bald guy. “No, _that’s_ Rude.”

Rude nods at Cloud, then turns back to the front. He looks familiar, and besides hanging around Rufus, Cloud recalls seeing him in his Geography class.

“You need anything, you let us know, yeah?” Reno says.

They finally get to the front of the line. Cloud digs his money out of his wallet, then walks for the door leading to the courtyard. Reno jogs up after him.

“Why do you care about the _new kid_?” Cloud grumbles as he pushes the door open, spotting an empty table toward the back of the area. His plans to eat alone go south as the pair follows him. Hopefully, they don’t stay for the entire lunch period.

“You’d be surprised how many of us weren’t born and raised here. Rufus, Rude, and I were all new at one point.”

Reno’s words are familiar, and Cloud recalls his conversation with Vincent an hour ago.

“So what, are you all showing solidarity for me or something?”

A feline grin spreads on Reno’s face. “You could say that.”

Rude folds his hands on the table. “We heard you have a record.”

“Which,” Reno jumps in, “doesn’t mean much to us. We’re not judging.” He takes a bite out of his sandwich. “But we’re curious…”

Cloud watches them, his foot tapping on the concrete. He has to give them credit for asking him directly instead of whispering with other students.

“You’re interested in what I did?”

Reno shrugs. “More in what you could do in the future. Based on what you’ve done.”

Cloud’s leg stops shaking and his brow furrows. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

With a wide smile, Reno slides a piece of paper across the table.

“Like I told you before, you let us know if you need anything. We find we can be…” he glances at Rude, “…pretty helpful friends.”

They leave, and Cloud lets out a relieved sigh. He considers tossing the paper without even looking, but against his better judgement, he unfolds it.

On it are two phone numbers — one is Reno’s and one is Rude’s — and underneath them a scrawled **Don’t be a stranger**.

Cloud grumbles, balling it up into his palm, but pauses. The pair meander through the courtyard with an air of superiority and assurance he’s never seen at school before. He has dealt with his fair share of “popular kids,” but the way these high schoolers move out of their way and hang onto their every word is so different from what he’s used to. He remembers the way students assembled to watch them _casually_ toss a ball around in gym class. The thought of what a baseball game must look like gives Cloud a headache.

He isn’t sure he wants such high profile friends for the next year, and he can’t seem to figure out why they give a shit about him.

With a shake of his head, he stuffs the paper into his pocket. He’ll decide what to do about it later. He could ask Vincent, but then he remembers how Reno greeted him on the first day. Cloud wonders if Rufus is their leader, and the three of them were sent to recruit him to… be part of their posse? But why? And why the hell would they think he’d be interested?

Cloud takes out his phone, needing a familiar distraction from his thoughts. He goes to open Zack’s message thread and sees a text from an unknown number. **Vincent Valentine** is all it says.

He saves Vincent’s number and responds to let him know he got it, then replies to Zack.

**CS: and subject myself to that shit? no thanks.**

Cloud exits the thread and hovers over his online messaging app. He itches to scroll through it, to search for any sign at all that his friend is still there, but he knows it’s no use. His nails scrape against the holes in his lobe, tugging a little harder than he means to. With each passing day, he loses the little bit of hope left that she’s still there. For a moment, he finds it difficult to swallow down his food. It’s been over a month, but the idea of her being gone still feels surreal.

His phone buzzes, diverting his attention.

**ZF: you could use a little more discipline in your life.**

Annoyance flashes through him as his thumbs move across the screen.

**CS: pretty sure i got enough of that from my dad.**

He winces, not having meant to sound so harsh. Cloud runs a hand through his hair and takes a breath as he tries to separate his emotions. It’s not right for him to take his pain out on his best friend, and he hopes Zack doesn’t take it the wrong way. Before he can type something else, Zack replies.

**ZF: you know what i mean man. military’s nothin like that. sure they’re on my ass a lot, especially now, but it’s good money and steady work. im learning a lot here. helpin a lot of people.**

Zack’s optimism is a relief, and it makes Cloud smile to hear what his friend thinks.

**ZF: besides, keep getting in trouble and you might find it hard to get a job after school lol.**

**CS: we wouldn’t have gotten into that fight if you’d just minded your business.**

**ZF: but she was so cute! and she needed help! what was i supposed to DO!**

**CS: you always gotta play the hero.**

Cloud plays a game on his phone until the bell rings and he has to head back into the building.

_Only one class left, thank Minerva._

Once inside, he turns down the hallway for most of the electives and slides into his Geography class with plenty of time to spare. The teacher stands at the front, surveying her students in silence.

As Cloud gets settled and takes out his book, Rude waltzes in and to his seat. Cloud watches him even once the bell rings and the teacher begins class. Rude doesn’t pay him any attention.

It’s just as well.

It doesn’t take long before Cloud’s eyes glaze over, and he loses focus. The teacher’s voice drones in the back of his mind. She continues her lesson on Nibelheim and the surrounding area, praising a mid-sized company bringing new business and jobs to the region. He vaguely remembers Shera talking about the same thing a few days ago but dismisses the thought quickly.

“When the Shinra corporation began building its first factory here, we saw a drastic change to the landscape over the next few years.”

Cloud blinks, his focus sharpening. Shinra? Where has he heard that name…?

_“Rufus Shinra! Raise your hand!”_

His mouth opens slightly at the realization. Would that mean Rufus is not only the leader of the popular kids, but also possibly the richest student at this school? Reno’s words about being helpful friends echo in his ears—just how helpful could they be if they’re associated with Rufus’s presumably powerful family? And why do they want to know what Cloud could do for them?

The bell rings before he’s ready for it, snapping him out of his thoughts. Students shuffle around him, gathering their things and heading out. As Cloud gets up, Rude crosses in front of his row and stares him down before exiting. Some take notice.

_“Did you see that?”_

_“What was that about?”_

_“Did the new kid get on Rufus’s shit list already?”_

Cloud liked it better when Rude ignored him.

He pushes the bald lackey out of his mind and makes his way up the closest flight of stairs. A group of girls chat on the landing, and one reaches out and grabs his arm. He glares at Priscilla, who only smiles coyly in return.

“Hey, Cloud.” She lets him go.

“Hey.”

He climbs the rest of the way up, and she trots after him.

“So, got any plans this weekend?”

“Not really.”

Priscilla skips ahead and steps in front of him. He skids to a halt.

“You didn’t lose my number, did you?”

Cloud shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at her. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Undeterred, she takes her phone out.

“Give me yours then. I’ll make sure to text you.”

Cloud bites the inside of his cheek. His first instinct is to shove her out of his way, and he immediately forces the thought down. He hates himself for wanting to react physically.

_He cries as his father smushes his mother’s face into the refrigerator. She tries to push back, but he’s so much bigger than her. If only he were bigger too._

His nails eat into his palm. Why can’t she just leave him alone?

A few feet away, Shera places announcements on the bulletin board. Cloud slides past Priscilla, relief at an escape allowing him to smile a little.

“Gotta help Mrs. Highwind, sorry.”

He doesn’t give her time to reply as he jogs down the hallway to Shera, who looks up at him, pushing her glasses up her nose. Her brow knits in confusion as he reaches her.

“What’s going on?” she inquires, handing him the flyers tentatively.

“Just wanna help.”

Cloud puts the remaining posters up before following her into the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and he breathes, running a hand through his hair.

“Do you know who Priscilla is?”

Shera nods as she walks over to her podium, grabbing a stack of papers. Cloud sits at a desk in the front row.

“What about her?”

“Does she come on this strong to everyone?”

Shera tilts her head in understanding.

“Ah. She’s a good student and a pretty good swimmer, but… well, I’m sure she just wants to be nice to you since she’s the leader of the student body and all.”

Cloud scoffs, taking out his book and starting on his homework. “Just wish she’d leave me be.”

Shera considers him for a moment before disappearing into her office. They’ve started a routine: Cloud works on homework in her classroom for an hour after school while she grades assignments or completes her lesson plans. He appreciates this built-in time to study, as it leaves him more time at home to do other things. There are still a couple of boxes left to unpack, and maybe he could look for a job…

“Oh shoot!” Shera emerges, her bag in hand. “I completely forgot, I’m tutoring a student this afternoon.” She checks her watch. “She should be there soon… I wonder if she’ll need a ride…”

“No problem.”

Cloud gathers his things and follows her out the door. As they approach the car, she tells him, “Twice a week I’ll be tutoring her, Wednesdays and Fridays. You’re more than welcome to do your homework with us if she’s comfortable with that.”

Cloud shrugs. “Okay.”

Shera checks her phone before starting the car. “I remember looking at your transcript. You’re not bad with math and science. Maybe you could help her too. Do you remember the girl who was in the front office on Monday?”

Cloud shakes his head, watching the town go by.

She stops at a light. “Well, it’s her. She…” Shera pauses, tapping the wheel with her thumb. Cloud senses her hesitation and glances back at her. She continues as the light turns green. “She had an accident at the end of the summer. She’s the seat next to you, by the window.”

“So she’s getting caught up?”

“Yes. She can’t return to school just yet, but Cid and I want to keep her as on pace as we can before she comes back.”

“Cid teaches at the school?”

“No.” Shera makes a turn. “But he was a scientist. He’s helping her with physics.”

“I thought he was a mechanic?”

“He is now.”

As they pull into the driveway, Cloud spots a girl standing on the porch. Shera navigates the car into the garage and clicks the remote for the door. It lowers behind them as they walk into the house. Shera goes straight for the front while he heads into the kitchen.

“Tifa! Did you walk here?”

The girl’s response is muffled by the closing door. Cloud rummages in the fridge for a snack, settling on an apple. When he’s done, Shera is there with the girl.

He does recognize her now that he gets a good look at her. As she tucks her hair behind her ear, he realizes it falls past her shoulders and down her back, with thick bangs that frame her face. She looks at him for a moment before her eyes dart toward the open window and she pulls her sleeves down to cover her knuckles.

“Tifa, this is Cloud. He’s our nephew, and he’ll be staying with us until the end of the school year.”

Tifa nods, rubbing her arm. Cloud runs a hand through his hair, unsure whether or not he should stretch his arm out for a handshake. The discomfort is palpable, and it makes his palms sweaty. She makes no move to greet him.

“Well, I just wanted to introduce you,” Shera says, and he appreciates her ability to sense the tension. “Cloud will be sitting next to you in my class. If you need any help, you can ask him, right?”

He clears his throat, feeling the weight of her stare. “Uh, sure. Yeah.”

“Thanks,” Tifa says, her voice barely audible. She folds her arms. “Could we start now, Mrs. Highwind?”

“Yes, of course.” Shera slides into the breakfast nook, opening her math book. Tifa removes her backpack and pulls her books out as she sits down.

“Would it be alright for Cloud to join us?”

Tifa visibly stiffens and nearly drops her bag.

Cloud speaks up before she can. “No thanks. I need to finish unpacking anyway.”

Tifa doesn’t relax as she takes out a pencil.

Shera sighs. “Oh right, of course. Well, if you get hungry, come back down for dinner. And Tifa, you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner as well.”

Tifa gives her a muted “Thanks,” staring down at her notebook. Cloud clears his throat again.

“Well uh… have fun.”

As he walks to the front Shera calls after him, “Tell Cid that Tifa is here please!”

“Yeah.”

Cloud closes the door without a sound and groans once he’s finally outside. Have fun? During tutoring? Why the hell did he say that? He takes bites of his apple and chews in irritation as he approaches the shop. Through the open door, he sees an old car on the far side that has been there since Cloud arrived, and he wonders when his uncle is going to work on it.

“Hope that car isn’t waiting on someone,” Cloud says.

There’s a clank, and Cid curses from underneath the pickup truck he’s currently working on.

“Hand me that oil filter wrench, smartass. It’s the one that looks like—”

“I know what it looks like.” Cloud grabs the specialized tool from the workbench and squats down as his uncle slides out. Cid snatches it from him before returning to the shadows of the truck.

“You’re welcome,” Cloud mumbles.

There’s more noise before Cid asks, “What do you know about cars?”

“Enough. I used to fix ‘em for people back home.”

Cid fiddles around for a few minutes longer, then hauls himself from underneath the truck. Grabbing the cigarette still smoking in the ashtray, he takes a long drag. “Anybody teach you?”

Cloud shrugs. “No. Learned myself.”

His uncle nods, humming to himself in consideration. “That old car over there, I took it off a neighbor who didn’t need it anymore. I was gonna make it my own little project, but I’m too busy these days.” He turns to Cloud. “Tell you what: if you can get her runnin’, she’s yours while you’re here.”

Cid takes a puff on his cigarette as Cloud stares with his mouth open. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm. And you can use anything in the shop you need. I should have plenty of spare parts lying around. But whatever ain’t here, you gotta get on your own.” He holds out his hand. “Deal?”

Cloud nods and takes his uncle’s hand. “Yeah. Deal.”

“Good. Time you spend on this is less time out getting into some kind of trouble. Now, how was your first week of school?”

Cloud leans on the work bench, arms crossed over his chest. “It was fine.”

“Make any friends?”

“Not really.”

His uncle looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “You even tryin’?”

“I thought I was only supposed to do my schoolwork and stay out of trouble.”

A vein in Cid’s forehead throbs as he grinds his teeth, biting the cigarette before removing it from his mouth. “A few friends wouldn’t hurt. Might even keep you out of trouble if you find the right ones.” He throws the smoke down and stubs it under his heel.

Cloud recalls his conversation with Reno and Rude, wondering if Cid would approve of them. From the way they act, Cloud has a feeling his uncle thinks they’re no-good troublemakers too.

His mind wanders to the girl Shera is tutoring, but he’s not sure they’ll ever be friends. She won’t even look at him.

Cloud takes a chunk out of his snack. “Shera wanted me to tell you Tifa is at your house.”

“You met her?”

“Briefly.”

Cid curses, wiping his hands down his dirty t-shirt before giving up on it.

“Ah well, I gotta change anyway from workin’.”

His sudden change in demeanor alerts Cloud. “What’re you worked up about?”

Cid presses a button. The car slowly lowers to the ground.

“She doesn’t like cigarette smoke. The smell. It’s why I wasn’t smokin’ this morning at breakfast.” Cid steps in front of Cloud and stares him in the eye. “Now listen here. You can act like a jackass to me and the kids at school, but watch your attitude with her.”

“Alright, geez.” Cloud leans back a little further against the bench. This intensity coming from his uncle is different than usual. There’s an undercurrent of concern there that he hasn’t seen before.

Cid backs off, reclining against the car. “What did Shera say about her?”

“Just that she’s in my class, and she had an accident this summer.”

His taps his chin. “Yeah, well, be nice, alright?” Cid pushes himself off the car. “I got a couple things I wanna show you before I leave.”

Cid leads Cloud inside and through a door next to the stairway. There’s a small laundry room with a washer, dryer, hampers, and washing supplies.

“You can wash your clothes here.”

Cloud moves to one side as Cid walks past him and out of the room to unlock another door. This is an office with a desk in the middle of the room and a whiteboard behind it. Several chairs and a TV fill the space.

“Unless I ask you to get something for me, your ass don’t need to be here.” He glares at Cloud. “You ever need me and I’m not home or in the garage, I’m probably here.”

“This place is really self-sufficient huh?”

“Yeah, well.” Cid scratches his scalp. “There was a reason for that.” He checks his watch and curses, then escorts Cloud out and locks the door behind him. “I gotta go. If you get low on washing powder or anything, just let us know. See you at dinner!”

The garage door shutters down behind him.

Cloud finishes his apple and tosses it into a nearby garbage can before going upstairs. He throws his bag onto the couch, then flops into bed with a huff and checks his phone.

**ZF: speaking of, any cute girls there?**

Cloud holds in a laugh as he types a response.

**CS: there’s this one girl that won’t leave me alone. she’s so annoying…**

**ZF: but is she cute??**

**CS: you have a one track mind.**

**ZF: im asking the important questions spike.**

Priscilla is attractive, but not exactly his type. Her disregard for his personal space irks him like hell. She seems nice enough, but then he remembers the way she discussed another student with her friend.

_“Cause she’s a tramp.”_

**CS: i guess. doesn’t seem very nice tho.**

**ZF: ah. could you possibly get over that?**

**CS: zack, thats not why im here.**

**ZF: could help make the time easier.**

Cloud groans at the suggestion, rolling to sit up.

**CS: i get the feeling a girl like her would make my life harder. she seems to gossip a lot.**

**ZF: okay okay. anyone else??**

He hasn’t had a whole lot of interactions with girls — or anyone for that matter — during this first week. Part of him knows it’s because the students would rather talk about him than to him, and the other part knows he’s hasn’t put in a lot of effort to socialize. The only other girl he’s had any notable interaction with is Tifa. And now that he’s thinking about it, she is pretty cute…

Cloud throws the phone onto the bed and gets up, not wanting to see where that trail of thoughts will lead. He still has two boxes left to unpack, so he focuses on that instead. The space is beginning to feel like it’s his, but even with most of his things put away, it’s too large and empty.

He pushes a box to the entertainment center near his bed, then fills the shelves with book, comics, and movies, pausing to stare at a few of them. Some belong to Zack, he realizes, but he’s sure his friend won’t mind if he borrows them for the next few months. Once done, he crosses the room to his desk, passing a door that leads out to a small balcony. He unpacks more books and other school supplies. He lays his laptop on the desk before moving his backpack on his desk chair and lifting the second box onto the couch. Since he’d already put half of his clothes away, it won’t take him long to finish unpacking the rest.

Cloud hears his phone buzzing as he opens a dresser drawer. His mother’s face flashes on the screen and he smiles.

“Hey, mom.” He walks back to the closet, balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Cloud, honey! How are you?”

The sound of her voice is soothing, and he feels more at ease than he has all week. “I’m alright. Just unpacking the last box. Are you on your lunch break?”

There is clanking and water running in the background. Suddenly he’s back home with her in the kitchen while she washes dishes. Cloud thinks he smells pepper in the air, and nearly sneezes. She always used too much

“No, I’m off today.” Something clatters. “Dammit…”

“You okay?”

“Just dropped some tupperware. I’m fine. How was your first week?”

He sighs, grabbing a few hangers. “Nothing too special, really. Some teachers are fine.”

“And some…?”

“I’ll just stay out of their way.”

“Good. That’s good.” The water stops running. “I don’t want you getting in anymore trouble, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawls.

“I’m worried sick enough as it is.”

Cloud pauses, shifting the phone to his other shoulder. His light-hearted tone is gone, guilt lacing his voice as he says,“I know… I’m sorry.”

Claudia exhales. “I just don’t want you to become trapped because of silly decisions. I want you to have prospects for the future, you know?”

“I know, mom. I’m trying.”

“I know you are, sweetheart. I know…”

He can hear her moving through the house. A door closes.

“Sometimes I feel like your issues are my fault. And I don’t want my mistakes to impact your life.”

Cloud shakes his head, then remembers his mother can’t see him. “Come on, mom. You didn’t make me get into that fight. Or any of the others. You’re doing the best you can.”

She sighs again. “Just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble so you can come back home safely. I miss you so much already!”

Claudia laughs then, and he joins her. His spirit lifts and his shoulders don’t feel so heavy anymore.

“I miss you too, mom.” He folds some sweatpants and places them into a drawer. His next question twists his stomach, but he needs an answer, or it will nag at him. “You stayin’ safe?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“I’m serious.”

“I am too.” He leans against the dresser. “I just mean… I know you are. But I worry about you, too. If he comes around while I’m not there—”

“Stop that. Your father hasn’t found us in three years. I doubt he’s going to find us in the few months you’ll be away.”

“But, mom—”

“And even if he _did_ ,” Claudia interrupts, “I can look after myself. I’ll be alright.”

“After what happened this summer…”

“It’ll be okay, Cloud. I doubt he’ll start looking around every apartment building just because he saw you practicing at a nearby park. This is a large area.”

Cloud chews on his lower lip, knowing she’s being logical, but he wishes she would worry more. Of course, because of him, she has enough on her mind.

“Alright,” he concedes.

“Listen to me. I want you to focus on school and stay out of trouble. You’re coming back to me in one piece, alright? Don’t worry about anything else.”

“Okay.”

“Now, how’s your Uncle Cid?”

Cloud proceeds with putting the rest of his clothes away. “Irritating.”

Claudia laughs out loud. “Does he still smoke like a chimney?”

They talk for an hour, catching up on the week he’s been away. By the time they say goodnight, he finished putting his clothes up and even swept the room. He didn’t realize how dusty it was until now. It’s obvious this place hasn’t been used in a very long time.

Cloud rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, setting the broom next to the mini-fridge. As he walks to the bathroom, he makes a mental note to make a grocery run in the near future.

He washes his hands, splashes his face, then cleans his jewelry before sticking them back into their respective places. Once he looks in the mirror, he smirks, feeling a little more like himself.

Cloud brings his guitar over to his bed with him, opening the window and flicking on a lamp. From the end table drawer, he takes out a small glass bowl with a mouthpiece, metal grinder, and his lighter. He deposits a couple of pinches of cannabis into the bowl, then leans against the wall and lights the herb. Cloud inhales deeply, closing his eyes and holding the smoke in for a few seconds before blowing out through his nose and mouth.

He props a pillow up behind him and unzips the case, slowly lifting the instrument into his lap. He revels in the calm that washes over him after a while and allows himself to momentarily forget about this week and his current situation. Cloud forgets about Cid, Heidegger, Rufus and his cronies, Priscilla and everyone else who gossips. The melodies that flow through him are his only focus. He strums a few chords before his arm moves and his fingers find the right notes without him having to think about it. Cloud loses himself to the music, the tones changing from hectic to sweet, until he settles into a familiar tune. He doesn’t even realize he’s playing it until his phone vibrates, pulling him back to the surface of his thoughts. He stops suddenly, and the abrupt silence that follows bears down on him.

**ZF: my commanding officer made me clean his quarters today. dude. i have another year of this shit.**

Cloud laughs as he leans his guitar on the wall, the tension lifting just a bit. He puts the weed away, getting up to brush his teeth and wash up. He picks a pair of shorts and a thin t-shirt to sleep in. The fresh air helps keep the room from getting too stuffy, but it’s still warm at night.

He lies back down and plugs his phone in to charge, watching the screen. Some nights he waits for a message that will never come, and his thoughts drift to the song he was playing just a few minutes before.

 _Her_ song.

She remains a constant tenant in his mind but occupies a smaller and smaller space as time goes on. Cloud knows it’s normal to move on—knows it’s healthy to move on. That doesn’t stop him from being angry at himself. He feels like the less he thinks of his friend, the less he checks her messages, the more he forgets. It’s a disservice to her. So before putting his phone down, he navigates through a few files. Cloud hovers over one for a moment, his stomach churning, then clicks on it. A girl’s rich voice fills the emptiness of the room.

Cloud rests his head against his pillow, covering his eyes with his arm. The lump in his throat threatens to suffocate him, and he wonders why he tortures himself like this.

_“So meet me one day_

_We’ll have a starlit dance_

_I’ll give you your heart back_

_You’ll give me one more chance_

_To hold you in my arms_

_And say “I’ve missed you so.”_

_To tell you “I’ve been waiting”_

_To tell you “I’ll never let go.”_

Outside, the stars twinkle brighter than they did in Midgar, but without the neon signs of the city, the void that fills his chest makes the night darker than he’s ever known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, someone's making friends! Isn't that nice? Still a sad boi, but that's okay! He'll be fiiiiine.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. I love hearing your thoughts hehe.
> 
> Shout out to theclosetpoet7 for the song. Love you darlin'!


	4. One Last Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening! Back at it again with another update. I had to move my update for this chapter up on my schedule cause I'm going to be busy during the week I was going to do this, so here ya go! Hope you all enjoy this chapter~! Gonna meet a whole host of characters here~
> 
> TW//  
> referenced domestic abuse

Three weeks into the school year, Shera decides to test him. That’s what he thinks it is anyway.

Cloud is tapping his pencil against the table when the knock comes. He takes a deep breath as he gets up, exhaling slowly before he answers.

Tifa stands on the other side of the door, one hand letting her ponytail down. Her other clutches the strap on her shoulder, her eyes fleeing his after a few seconds. Her jaw is tight as she chews on her lower lip. Cloud clears his throat.

“Shera told you she’s stuck in a meeting, right?”

Tifa nods. Her gaze doesn’t meet his, instead remaining fixed on the door frame. “You’re supposed to tutor me?”

Cloud moves out of the way to give her space. “Yeah. Come in.”

There is a moment of hesitation before she quickly shuffles past him. Cloud trails her, making sure not to follow too closely.

“Want anything to drink?”

Tifa slides into the breakfast nook and deposits her bag next to her. “Water?” Her voice is uncertain, as if she doesn’t want to impose even though he just offered.

He grabs two glasses and fills them with ice and water before joining her. “It’s pretty hot outside, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She lifts the glass to her lips and uses the end of her sleeve to wipe her forehead. Tifa doesn’t continue the small talk, so he drops it and opens his math book.

“So, what was the last thing you did with Shera?”

He wants to get started as soon as possible so they have something else to focus on other than the awkward tension. His uncle’s warning rings in his head, and he wants to be nice—Tifa doesn’t seem so bad. He has to see her on a regular basis, and she hasn’t given him any reason to be a jerk, unlike a lot of other people he’s met since coming here. Her anxiety is so palpable that it rubs off on him, but it also makes him want to create a comfortable atmosphere for her to relax in.

Tifa fishes out her textbook and pencil. Her fingers tap the pages of her planner as she scans it to find her last lesson.

“Accuracy and precision.”

Cloud hums, flipping to the correct chapter. “Did you go over bias yet?”

“Uh… no.”

“I think you’re a day behind where we are in class, so I’ve already done this.”

Tifa puts her glass down a little too hard, and he glances up from his notebook.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound…”

“It’s fine.” Her hand runs through her thick hair again, shifting most of it over one shoulder.

“I just meant that, since we’ve done this, it should be easy to teach you.”

“Okay.” Her voice is strained, begging him to move on.

Cloud fights the urge to scratch the back of his head. His jitters will make things worse.

“Okay then, uh…” He’s never been a tutor before and wasn’t sure if he even had it in him to teach anyone. Cloud isn’t the most patient person, but that’s because he doesn’t like to deal with other people’s shit. This isn’t the same, and Shera has put her faith in him. He only has to take it one step at a time, beginning with the last thing she remembers.

“Can you tell me about accuracy?”

Tifa’s brow pinches as she puts her eraser between her teeth, her eyes sweeping over her notes. “It’s… it’s how close the measured values are to each other?”

The confusion etched into her features fades into dismay as he shakes his head. Cloud turns his notebook so it is facing her, his finger near the top of the page.

“That’s precision,” he says, skimming over the lines. “Accuracy is how close any individual measured value is to the true value.”

She gnaws on her lower lip again as she follows his hand, reading his notes. “I don’t really… get how they’re different,” she mutters, and she sounds like she’s ready to give up on the topic already.

Cloud sits back in the booth. It’s easy enough to him, but how to show her…?

He recalls something Shera showed in class.

“Are you a more visual learner?”

“Mmm.”

Reaching back over the table for his notebook, he draws a chart with several lines and numbers, before turning it back to her.

“Okay, let’s say the actual, or true, value is 20.” He points to the middle of the line, then drags his finger across. “17 is one of your values. Compared to the other values, since it’s closer to the true value of 20, it’s the most _accurate_.” Cloud looks up at her, giving her time to ask a question. She only stares at the number line, so he continues. “These values — 10, 11, and 12 — are all relatively close together. So they are more _precise_.”

Her face doesn’t change; her brows remain pushed together, her mouth set in a firm line. Cloud ponders another tactic, drawing several circles onto the paper.

“Think of these as targets. Bullseye in the middle, right?” She affirms with a curt nod. Cloud draws a few dots spaced around the center. “These values are close to the bullseye, so they’re more accurate.” On the second circle, he draws a cluster of dots near the top of the target. “And these values are more precise because they’re so close together. But they aren’t very accurate because they’re far away from the middle.” Cloud creates a group of dots huddled over the center of the third circle. “These are both accurate _and_ precise because they are all close together _and_ they are close to the bullseye.”

Tifa’s eyes widen as he goes through the lesson, and she scribbles in her notebook. Cloud waits for her response, and when she looks up, comprehension shines on her face. She pushes her notebook forward for him to see she’s replicated his number line with some additions.

“So, if 20 is the true value…” she starts hesitantly, glancing at him, “and I have values of 17, 18, and 19, those are precise because they’re close to each other. And they’d be accurate too?”

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Because…?”

“Because… because they’re close to the actual value. Closer than my other values of 10, 11, and 12.”

Cloud smiles. “Yeah, you got it.”

Relief washes over her, and the tension melts away as she shifts back. Her lips curve just slightly in satisfaction, but it’s enough that Cloud notices how different her face looks when she isn’t so tense. Her eyes soften, the creases around them diminishing. As her jaw slackens, the roundness of her cheeks becomes more apparent. For the first time, Cloud sees something other than her anxiety - a gentleness that almost startles him. Through their sparse interactions, he was beginning to think she’d never allow herself to unwind around him. Cloud takes a bit of pride in not only getting through the hurdle of the first lesson, but in making her feel a little more comfortable.

“Let’s go over bias now.”

Any contentment she felt dwindles as she remembers they still have more to do. Tifa takes a deep breath and sits forward, pencil in hand. Her shoulders remain loose, and Cloud counts that as a minor victory.

They gradually make their way through the material. Some things take a few tries, but she catches on quickly enough. There’s a determination in her that he admires; even though he can tell she doesn’t like the subject, she wants to apply herself and learn. He finds himself amused when he thinks maybe he should apply himself a little more, even though he gets good enough grades.

An hour in, Cloud decides they should take a break.

“You have a head for numbers,” he says as he refills their glasses. “Stats is just its own beast.”

He slides back into the booth and sets her water down. She gulps a few sips before responding.

“I’m better with algebra. Like… way better.” There’s a sheepish look to her eyes as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Despite her more lax posture, she never really meets his gaze. “You must… think I’m dumb,” she mumbles.

“No!” His response is too loud for the otherwise quiet room. She blinks in surprise at his outburst. “You’re not dumb. I don’t think you’re dumb. This stuff can be hard.”

“You seem to get it so easily.”

“I’m shit at algebra though.”

Tifa almost seems to fight it, letting out a slight huff as she bites her lip, but that tiny smile returns anyway. Cloud feels bold enough to ask a question when the front door opens.

“I am so sorry!”

Shera rushes into the kitchen, her face flushed, carrying a bag in each hand. Cloud gets up, but she shakes her head and sets them down near the doorway.

“These parents _insisted_ on having this conference today.” She’s annoyed, blowing her bangs out of her face as she makes her way to the fridge and takes out a soda. “Everything okay here?”

Cloud watches Tifa for a moment, who nods. Another victory.

“Yeah. We were just about to start bivariate data.”

“Cid should come soon to start with physics, right?”

The door slams. Cloud rolls his eyes. Right on cue.

“Shera! You home?”

“I’m standing right here, Cid.”

His uncle lumbers into the room. Grease stains his flannel shirt. He rubs his hand over his forehead with gusto, but the smudge across his brow streaks even worse.

“I’ll be down in a minute to help ya,” he directs at Tifa. “Gotta wash up.” Cid’s eyes drift over to Cloud and harden. “He’s not actin’ like a shithead, is he?”

Cloud grimaces. “Get off my ass.”

When he turns to close his textbook, Tifa’s eyes are wide in bemusement as she looks back and forth between him and Cid. Cloud chuckles quietly, stuffing his books away.

“He likes to give me a hard time.”

“Oh,” is all she says as she sips from her water.

“You don’t make my life any easier, boy!” Cid shouts as he heads upstairs.

“Since you haven’t done bivariate data yet, Tifa, can you come over tomorrow?” Shera digs through one of her bags near the doorway, then pulls out a large planner. She sets it on the island and skims through it. “Perhaps around ten? I want to make sure you’re completely caught up before you come back on Monday.”

The cup slips from Tifa’s hand and clatters on the table. Cloud reaches out and rights it before it spills, then checks on her. She’s blanched, stiffness seeping into her muscles once more. She gulps down, running a shaky hand through her hair. For a brief second, her eyes meet his. Cloud catches a flash of terror, before she tears away from his gaze and lifts herself from the booth.

“Where’s your bathroom?” she asks. From being so close to her, Cloud can hear her short, uneven pants. Her fingers tangle together in front of her, and he can tell she’s trembling.

“It’s down the hall. Are you alright?” Shera moves toward them, but Tifa shakes her head and walks past her.

“I’m fine.”

The door to the bathroom shuts with a definite click.

Shera stares down the hall for a moment before turning to Cloud. She sits across from him.

“I think it would be better if you left.” She sounds apologetic and unsure, but Cloud takes no offense. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Is she okay?”

Shera taps her forefinger on the table as she tries to come up with an answer, but all she says is, “Just be nice on Monday. Returning to school might be rough on her.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“And hey!” Cloud looks back at Shera, who is smiling. “Thanks for today. Sounds like you did an excellent job.”

Seems like he passed his test. “Sure. No problem, Aunt Shera.”

“You’ll be here bright and early tomorrow morning, right?”

“Of course.”

* * *

But the next morning, Cloud doesn’t hear his alarm. He only wakes up because he feels like he’s burning.

He sits up quickly, kicking the thin sheet from his body. Cloud wipes beads of sweat off of his brow and chin, then realizes with a disgusted sigh that he’d drooled during the night.

Sunlight cascades into the room, hitting him square in the chest. He groans, adding curtains to his mental list of things to buy. As he stumbles out of bed and grabs his phone, he wonders why the hell his alarm didn’t go off. The screen doesn’t light up, and after a few more taps, he realizes it’s dead.

Yanking the charger out of the wall, Cloud growls as he tosses it into the trash and heads for the bathroom. It must have given out in the night; it’s been shorting for a while. But now that means he’s late, and he dreads mowing the lawn in this heat.

Cloud splashes his face several times to get the sweat off, then changes into the thinnest shirt he can find and a pair of shorts. Maybe Cid and Shera will take some pity on him and ask him to do this chore tomorrow.

That prayer is short-lived.

“You’re still mowing the goddamn lawn.”

His uncle doesn’t look up from the newspaper.

“Cid, it’s blazing out there.”

“Then you should’ve gotten up earlier.”

Shera hands Cloud a glass of water. “Did you miss your alarm or something?”

“My charger stopped working. Phone was dead this morning.”

As Cid lifts his tea to his lips, he says, “Not my problem.”

Shera shakes her head. “I’ll make a batch of lemonade too. _We_ ,” she glances back at her husband pointedly, “don’t want you to get heat stroke, so take as many breaks as you need. And hand me your phone, I’ll charge it.”

“Thanks, Aunt Shera.” Cloud throws daggers at his uncle before making his way to the garage. From there, he grabs the lawn mower and gets to work. He has to rest more often than usual, sometimes even going to sit on the porch with his water, but he’s makes good progress.

As Cloud uses the bottom of his shirt as a towel, he hears the gate rattling. Looking up, he sees Tifa on the other side trying to undo the latch.

“Here, let me help.”

Cloud unlocks the gate, holding it open for her. Tifa strokes her braid as she walks in and mumbles “Thank you.” He notices a crescent moon and stars behind her left ear as she passes him. The skin is still red around it, telling him it’s only a day or two old, and with her braid tugged over her other shoulder, it’s easy to spot. Her nervous gestures alerts him, and he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, hoping to ease her discomfort.

“Nice uh…” Cloud scratches the back of his neck as she turns to face him. She looks confused, like she wasn’t expecting him to say anything else. “Nice tattoo. It’s pretty.”

Tifa blinks, her hand moving to the fresh mark. She yanks it back, her fingers curling as she stops herself from touching it.

“Uhm, th-thanks.”

“Did you have that yesterday?”

“Mmhm. My hair was down.”

“Well, it’s cool.”

She glances away for a moment, gnawing her lip, then looks back at him. “Thanks. And… and sorry. About yesterday.”

He wonders if she means her behavior and wants to tell her reassure that it’s okay. But instead of broaching that subject and possibly upsetting her again, he asks, “For what?”

“Well, I…” Tifa pauses, and her fingers work the end of her braid even faster. “I never thanked you for tutoring. So…thanks.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t mind.”

Tifa nods but doesn’t go inside just yet. Apprehension clouds her features, and she looks like she wants to say something else.

“What?”

She lets the air out of her chest. “Your piercings. They’re cool, too.”

Cloud reaches up instinctively to stroke his lobe. Since he’s only met her on weekdays, she’s never had the chance to see him with his earrings in. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Yeah… well, good luck with the lawn mowing.”

He watches her make quick work of the porch and disappear inside of the house. It feels like they’ve made some progress in the past couple of weeks, especially yesterday afternoon. However, he’s worried that her panic at the end of their session — the fact that he witnessed it — may have wiped the slate clean, and they’re back where they started. He didn’t want to push Shera about it; his aunt appears to know a good deal about Tifa, more about her than her other students. She knew about the accident, and she knew enough to ask Cloud to leave once Tifa freaked out.

It’s not his business, he tells himself as he starts the lawn mower back up, but his mind can’t stop wondering. He doesn’t find it hard to believe that returning to school might be difficult for someone starting a month late. But why did Shera feel the need to ask him to be nice to her? Why did Cid damn near threaten him to? Is she picked on at school? Why do they care so much?

Cloud snorts as he finishes the last section of the yard. As a kid who’s been through his fair share of bullying, he can sympathize with her. What he can’t understand is why they’re so concerned. His entire life, those with the power to protect him haven’t bothered to do so. Maybe that small town mentality Heidegger talked about makes a difference. And maybe, deep down, he’s a little envious of her. His aunt and uncle have her back. Where the hell were they when _he_ needed them? Where was Cid to protect his little sister when her husband was beating the shit out of her?

Nowhere to be found. So as soon as Cloud was big enough, he had to protect his mom himself.

He slams into the fence at the end of the row he’s working on, plummeting him back to earth. With a huff, he uses his shirt to wipe his face again, then puts everything back where it belongs. Once inside, he hears talking — Cid is explaining something about vectors and projectile motion — but the words are a hum in his ears compared to his throbbing heart. The air conditioning in the kitchen is jolting, and he realizes how hot he is.

“Cloud! Cloud, here.” Shera reaches him with a tall glass of lemonade, which sweats almost as much as he does. He takes it from her and leans against the counter, the sweet, cool liquid washing down his throat. He can barely taste the flavor—he can only focus on how refreshing the drink is. It’s not until he finishes the glass, gasping, that he feels closer to normal, though his head still swims a little.

“Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?”

The talking has stopped. When he glances back, Cid is eying him with a mixture of worry and annoyance, chewing on a toothpick. Tifa hunches over her notebook, her braid sliding down her shoulder and hiding her face. Now that he’s cooling down, his animosity fires back up. He answers his aunt curtly.

“I’ll be fine.”

Shera offers to refill his glass, but he declines. He suddenly needs to get out of this house as soon as possible and marches down to the shop, his fists bunching in his pockets. Shera isn’t the focus of his frustrations—it’s his uncle. Cid is Claudia’s older brother; he should have been there for her. Instead, Cloud barely knows the man because he didn’t make an effort to check in with his sister even after her and her family moved away from Nibelheim. Hell, Cid should have done more _after_ they moved. He should have known something was going on.

Cloud stomps up to his room and peels off his sweaty clothes, dropping them into a nearby hamper. He starts his shower off with cold water, yelping in shock from the stark contrast. After a few minutes, he adjusts the temperature so it’s more lukewarm, finishes his shower, and steps out. As he’s getting dressed, Cloud goes to check the time on his phone. It’s not in any of the usual places he leaves it, and after digging his clothes out of the hamper, he realizes he’s left it at his aunt and uncle’s house. With a sigh, he trudges back.

Halfway there, Cloud’s eyes rest on an unfamiliar, old truck parked in front of the Highwind home. His gait slows to a more cautious approach, and he wonders if they are perhaps someone visiting a neighbor. Since he’s been here, neither Cid nor Shera have entertained any guests besides Tifa. Maybe Tifa’s parents are picking her up.

As Cloud walks through the gate, a deep, full bellow wafts down the sidewalk from the front door. He looks up, startled at the sudden noise, as a little girl no more than ten years old squeals and runs down the steps. Her long braid whips behind her.

“Big sis! Come on, let’s go!”

“Thanks y’all! Really appreciate it!”

A sizable man almost a foot taller than Cloud comes down the porch and scoops the girl up, whose giggles float around them. She looks toward the truck but spots Cloud and abruptly stops laughing. Her face disappears into the crook of the man’s neck, her arms wrapping around him. The man’s grin gets wider.

“You must be Cid’s nephew! Cloud, right?” The man reaches out his hand as he comes down to meet him.

“Uh, yeah.” Cloud shakes, and almost regrets it. The man’s grip is powerful, nearly crushing his hand, but it isn’t tight and foreboding like Heidegger’s. He is more eager and welcoming – and perhaps not aware of his own strength.

“I’m Barret, friend of the family. This here’s my daughter Marlene.” Barret tickles Marlene’s cheek to coax her out of hiding, but she shakes her head and buries further into her father. Is this Tifa’s father as well? Marlene was calling her, so are they all related?

Tifa emerges and waves behind her to Cid and Shera.

“See you soon!” His aunt tells her.

She jogs to them, holding onto her backpack. Barret is still trying to get Marlene to say hello.

“I’ve never seen him before! Is he a stranger?” Her high-pitched voice is muffled, but still carries through her father’s shirt.

“Sorry about this. Strangers take some getting used to for her.”

“It’s okay.”

Tifa lines up next to the man and smoothes Marlene’s hair. There’s a smile on her face as the little girl looks up and reaches for her.

“Tifa! Are you ready to go home?” Barret puts her down and Tifa grabs her hand. Once on the ground, she tucks herself behind Tifa’s leg, peeking out at Cloud with wide and curious eyes. When he looks directly at her, she buries her face into Tifa’s hip.

“It’s okay Marlene,” Tifa coos, patting her head. Her voice is unfamiliar—so soothing as she focuses on the child, twisting just a little as Marlene looks up and meets her eyes. “He’s…” Tifa glances at him, and trepidation mars her otherwise soft features, before she turns back to the girl with that gentle smile.

A gentle smile he’s never seen before, and one he realizes somewhere in the back of his mind isn’t for him.

“Cloud is my tutor,” Tifa finishes. “He’s okay.” When she gazes back at him, her smile is not as kind as it is when directed at Marlene, but her eyes are warmer than they have been before. She chews on her lower lip for a moment, her anxiety manifesting in her usual tick before she says, “He’s nice.”

Barret wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her forward. “Nice to meet ya, Cloud!” To Tifa he says, “Let’s get y’all home. How was tutoring, baby girl?”

Cloud doesn’t hear the rest of their conversation as they climb into his truck and it rumbles to life. Shera walks up next to him.

“Here’s your phone. You left it in the house.”

Cloud drops it into his pocket, still staring back out at the road. “Was that Tifa’s dad?”

“No, her godfather.”

“So Marlene isn’t her sister?”

Shera laughs. “No. She just calls her that. Tifa’s known her since she was a baby. She watches her a lot for Barret.”

He reflects on the way Tifa dealt with Marlene to comfort her and make her feel safe. Cloud begins to wonder why Tifa never seems to feel safe enough to relax, but pushes the thoughts away. He has enough on his plate.

“Where can I buy a charger?”

* * *

Shera lets Cloud borrow her car for his trip to the shopping plaza. The drive is only a few minutes, but he pinpoints landmarks in his head so he can remember how to get back. It’s packed on this Saturday afternoon; most people are grocery shopping and running their own assorted errands. Cloud hopes he can get what he needs quickly. The faster he’s out of here, the less chance there is anyone from school seeing him.

It doesn’t take him long to find the tech store; it’s the second largest besides the grocery, with banners advertising different sales swaying in front. Cloud wastes no time, parking as close to it as he can, then heading inside.

“Hi!”

A girl around his age leans over the counter at the help desk and waves him over. Cloud thinks to ignore her but recognizes Vincent standing on the other side. He tilts his head, beckoning Cloud as well.

“You’re that new guy, right?” the girl asks, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Yuffie, this is Cloud,” Vincent says before Cloud can answer. “Don’t call him that. He hates it.”

Cloud smirks. “Thanks.”

“Whatever.” Yuffie removes her headband and combs her fingers through her short black hair. After putting it back on, she rests her chin in her hands, her elbows on the counter, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “So, you like it here so far?”

“It’s fine.”

“I haven’t had the chance to say hi at school yet since we don’t have any classes together.”

Yuffie is nothing but pure energy, speaking so fast it’s almost too hard for Cloud to keep up. He takes a second to decipher her words, and then says, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Is my computer ready yet?”

She rolls her eyes at Vincent, her hair tossed up by a huff. “I told you, just a couple more minutes. What, you don’t want to keep me company?”

“I’ve got things to do.”

“You’re so mean to me!”

“Uh.” Cloud redirects their attention, not sure if he can continue listening to this. “Where are your phone chargers?”

Yuffie points to an aisle not too far away. “Right around there!”

He leaves them to their bickering, wondering if Vincent is dating that girl. Cloud rounds a corner, finding what he needs almost immediately. As he heads back, he hears Yuffie speaking in a hushed voice.

“How’s she doing?”

The apprehension in her tone makes Cloud pause. They don’t see him behind the wall, but he’s close enough to hear what they’re saying.

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her.”

“Are you serious? Aren’t you friends?”

There’s a delay before Vincent responds, “She’s not talking to me.”

“What did you do?”

“I don’t think she’s really talking to anyone.”

“Well, she’s coming back, right?”

Cloud guesses they’re talking about Tifa. He doesn’t know of anyone else starting school late.

“I’m pretty sure she has to.”

“Did…” Yuffie falters, then clears her throat. “Did they really make her stay in the hospital for an entire month?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh come on, your dad is a doctor there. I know you know.”

There is an edge to Vincent’s voice. “If I did, I couldn’t tell you that.”

“I’m just worried about her! Don’t get that tone with me.”

Cloud grabs something off of the wall and drops it, alerting them to his return. He puts it back before emerging, and Yuffie’s smile is back. Vincent looks as cool as ever.

“You can pay for that over here!”

Cloud drops the charger onto the counter and Yuffie rings him up quickly.

“Got your computer yet?”

Yuffie snatches his receipt from the machine with a frown. “Why are you guys so impatient?” At Vincent’s raised brow she says, “Ugh, fine. I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the backroom for a few minutes. They hear her shouting, and then she comes back. “Here’s your damn computer.”

“Thank you.” He turns to Cloud. “You done here?”

“Yeah.”

“Make sure you come back and visit me soon!”

Once outside, Cloud asks, “Is she your girlfriend?”

Vincent chokes as they walk into the parking lot. “Gods, no. She’s like a little sister to me. We seem like we date?”

Cloud shakes his keys in his hand. “Just like you’re familiar.”

“Yeah. We’ve known each other for years.”

They arrive at Cloud’s car. He wasn’t aware he was leading Vincent here—he just started heading toward it automatically—but he offers Vincent a ride. There are so many things he wants to ask the other boy, and his secret conversation with Yuffie has only piqued his interest further.

Vincent directs Cloud through town. After a minute or two he asks, “Is this your car?”

Cloud makes a turn and shakes his head. “No. My aunt’s.”

“Oh yeah. Mrs. Highwind, right?”

Cloud shoots him a side-glance as Vincent points to a neighborhood. “How much do you know about me?”

His companion chuckles. “Enough. But regardless of the leaks, everyone figured out that you’re with the Highwinds. You ride with her to school.”

Cloud gives him that, but the leaks bother him. Students aren’t whispering about him as much as before, but he still catches brief glances and hushed conversations every now and again. The stares are nonexistent whenever Vincent isn’t too busy to eat with him, and Cloud likes to think it’s out of some respect for the other kid. Most have learned by now to leave him alone, though there are days where Priscilla or Reno will invade his lunch table and try to chat him up. He’s not sure when they will get the hint. Hopefully soon.

“Here’s my house.”

Cloud pulls into the driveway of a modest two-story brick home similar to the Highwinds’. The garage door is open, a car idling inside. Vincent doesn’t get out, and Cloud takes the opportunity to inquire about something that’s been on his mind.

“You know a girl named Tifa?”

Vincent’s eyes narrow in suspicion as he stares at Cloud. “How much did you hear?”

Cloud blinks, surprised he isn’t beating around the bush. He’s not sure if Vincent is only being cautious or if he is also angry, so he answers truthfully.

“All of it.”

“Don’t repeat it to anyone.”

“I seem like a gossip to you?”

Vincent sighs. “No, you don’t.” He taps the box in his lap. “How did you know we were talking about her?”

“I don’t know about anyone else starting school this late. I see her sometimes at my aunt and uncle’s house.” Cloud doesn’t mention it’s for tutoring; he figures that detail is unnecessary. “Shera said she had an accident before school.”

“Yeah…”

Vincent rubs his jaw, and Cloud can see him ruminating on something. Whether or not to tell him more? He’s not even sure if he wants to ask any further.

A middle-aged man with long black hair and a white coat comes out of the house. Vincent looks up at him, then back at Cloud.

“Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Before Cloud can follow up, Vincent is out of the car. The older man, who Cloud assumes is his father since they look alike, waves at him and gestures toward his own car. Vincent nods at him and climbs in.

Cloud leaves with more questions than answers. Vincent became so protective so suddenly, it makes him wonder if his hunch about Tifa being bullied is correct. If they’re friends, then why isn’t she speaking to him?

As he pulls into the driveway at his uncle’s house, he mulls over his lost friend, and feels his heart constrict when he remembers she’s not speaking to him either. She _can’t_ speak to him anymore. She’s gone.

Since he played her song a couple of weeks ago, he hasn’t been able to stop. Cloud continues to worry about forgetting her, but since then, he has spent nearly every evening after dinner playing that melody and listening to her recording. Every night he thinks it will be the last - he just needs to listen to it one more time. But then the next night comes, and he needs to hear her again.

This evening is no different. Cloud has been scribbling in his journal and strumming the tune for hours when his phone rings.

“Yo! Spike!”

“Hey, Zack.”

Cloud leans back against the wall and lets his notebook fall to his side. He rolls his shoulders, trying to release the tension that has built up from hunching over for so long.

“Why do you sound so down?”

Cloud fiddles with his earrings. “I can’t… stop thinking about her. It’s driving me nuts.”

Zack lets out a lengthy sigh. The rambunctious life signs of Midgar sound in the background—cars honking, people chatting, trains whistling. He almost feels like he’s walking down the street with his best friend, and he relaxes a little more.

“How long has it been now?”

His tone isn’t accusatory, but irritation flares up in Cloud at the question. He bites down on his tongue before he responds, not wanting to take that out on Zack. His friend is concerned—that’s what he hears—but thinking about how long it’s been since he got to talk to her hurts. Cloud considered her his best friend besides Zack, even though their friendship was online. He spoke with her nearly every day. For her to be gone so suddenly, and for her to be gone in this way, makes his heart ache like nothing he’s ever known.

“Almost two months. Fuck, I should be over this by now.”

“Dude, you talked to her for what, two years? It’s okay to grieve for a while.”

“It’s not like I ever met her. I don’t even know what she looks like.”

“But she was there for you.”

The knife twists. Cloud lets out a wheeze, but Zack continues like he doesn’t hear it.

“You don’t make friends easily, kid, and I get that. I’ve known you for a long time. But she _was_ your friend. She meant a lot to you. It’s okay for this to hurt even though it was just online.”

Cloud swallows the massive lump in his throat and rasps, “I wish I could’ve done more for her.”

“That’s what’s eating you up, isn’t it?”

“Zack, if I could-”

“Stop.” Cloud imagines his friend halting on the sidewalk, that look on his face when he wants to chastise him. “You have this insane need to protect people because you had to look after your mom, even though you were just a kid. You saw others getting bullied and wanted to protect them too, which usually got you in trouble. You have a good heart Cloud. You were a great friend to her just like she was to you, and you wanted to fight her demons for her. But sometimes our demons catch up to us. That’s not your fault, and it’s not hers.”

Cloud sinks against the wall. “I _know_ that, Zack. But it still feels… it was just so sudden. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

There were so many things he didn’t get to say.

“Then tell her.”

Cloud blinks. “What?”

Zack’s voice echoes, and the sounds of Midgar are muted. Cloud thinks he’s walked inside of a building. “It’s something I’ve seen in the military. Sometimes when families lose someone, they write one last letter to them. Maybe you should write her one last letter and get it all out. It might help.”

Cloud shifts forward, bending over his lap and staring into his journal. He’s crossed out so many words, line after line, verses that he wants to put together but just aren’t forming. Maybe, on some level, that’s what he’s been doing this whole time - trying to connect with her again through this song.

“Cloud?”

He clears his throat. “Sorry. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Okay! Good. Try it out, let me know how it goes.” A heavy door slams. “Sorry about that, I’m back at the barracks. Just wanted to check on ya, Spike.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Night!”

Cloud drops his phone onto his bed and continues to stare at his journal. Some words swim together on the page, and it’s not until he hears the tortured sob rip out of his throat that he realizes he’s crying. He doesn’t fight it tonight, instead letting his emotions take him where he needs to go. It’s not until the sky turns pink that Cloud feels like he’s finally expelled something he’s been bottling up for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for so much Barret-Tifa-Marlene y'all. I love them so much.  
> Zack's a good friend!! Wonder what Cloud wrote to his lost friend... sniff.


	5. Welcome Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there friends~ Hope you enjoy Tifa's first day back at school more than she does!
> 
> TW//  
> implied/referenced self-harm  
> moderate panic attacks

Tifa is not sure how long she’s been awake by the time her alarm goes off; she was on the fringes of sleep for the better part of the night, and once she was conscious enough to think about the time, she was too afraid to check. When the beeping starts, Tifa shuts it off immediately. It’s too loud and jarring.

She doesn’t get up, though, instead staring at the ceiling in the hopes it will crumble and bury her forever. That way, she doesn’t have to go. They cleared her a week ago, and she put it off—she’s not ready, Tifa had told them, she can’t go yet.

She still isn’t ready. But she can’t hold out anymore.

Tifa takes a deep breath and tosses the covers off of her, padding to her bathroom. She goes through her routine—brushing her teeth, washing her face, combing her hair. The spot behind her left ear smarts. Tifa slips on a headband, leaning forward and turning her head so the moon and stars tattoo is apparent. The skin isn’t red anymore, but it still itches like hell. Her father had been furious, but she hadn’t cared; she’s old enough to get tattoos without his permission, and she needed something to make her feel better about returning to school. This isn’t her first one anyway.

She washes the area as instructed, hoping it will help with the tingling. As she lowers her hands back into the sink, her eyes catch on the whitish lines inside her arms, and her heart stops.

The emotions she’s tried to keep at bay all morning cascade into her; the anguish she’s felt for years, with no one to talk to about it; her fear of anyone knowing her pain or using it to hurt her again; her anger at herself for what she’s done and at those who have pushed her to this point.

Tifa grips the end of the sink so hard her knuckles turn white, and she squeezes her eyes shut as if it will block out the thoughts. It feels like she’s on the ocean, waves rocking her back and forth, and a sickening gurgle slides up her throat. Tifa swallows so hard it’s painful, struggling against the nausea, the tears, the agony in an attempt to just _breathe_.

She isn’t sure how long it takes for her to calm down and focus on nothing but her harsh pants. Tifa gulps down again, her breaths coming out in shudders as she meets her gaze in the mirror. The bags under her eyes are so deep she could fall into them. Tifa considers dabbing concealer on the dark circles to make them less prominent. She knows she’s bound to get enough stares—for her long sleeves, for her absence. And the _rumors_ _—_ gods, she can only imagine the rumors. She doesn’t want to give people something else to ponder.

So she splashes her face again, rubs makeup under her eyes, and when she’s satisfied, begins to pull her hair back into a braid. The weather is still warm and sticky, and she doesn’t want to overheat. But the tattoo shines like a beacon against her pale skin, and she reconsiders the style, letting her black locks fall to cover it. It would be another thing for kids to talk about. She doesn’t want to give them more ammunition.

Tifa flees the bathroom for her closet, no longer able to look at herself. She did laundry the day before so she would have plenty of shirts to choose from and picks a thin black one with a pair of jeans. She dresses quickly and grabs her backpack to head downstairs. A shooting pain ghosts through her right arm, and she clamps down on it. Her grip makes it worse, but she digs her nails into her skin as if that can make it stop. It’s gone just as fast as it came, and she peels back the sleeve to look, half-expecting the white scars to be seeping blood. Instead, they scream back up at her like they did a few minutes before, shaming her for her sin. She yanks the fabric back down over them before leaving the room.

The flutter of turning pages alerts her to her father’s presence. She smells the looming stench of cigarette smoke only a few seconds later. Tifa checks her watch. She was hoping he would have left for work by now, but she won’t have to spend too much time with him. Barret should be here soon.

She grabs cereal and milk, pouring herself a bowl and leaving for the living room. Brian Lockhart sits at the counter with a newspaper and a cup of coffee. The offending cancer stick lies in an ashtray in front of him. He says nothing, but she catches him glancing at her as she passes him with her breakfast. His eyes swim with some unreadable emotion; she won’t allow herself to meet his gaze to decipher it, but she wonders if it’s melancholy or hatred.

The house is silent, save for her father’s browsing and her crunching. A few minutes go by before she hears him sigh and get up, folding his newspaper and putting it on the counter. His coffee cup clatters into the sink, and she imagines him picking up his briefcase and suit jacket before heading to the door. His strides lead him to the front, but he pauses. Tifa stills, the hairs on her neck standing up, and she knows he’s watching her.

_What dad? What do you want to say?_

But the lock turns and the door swings open with a faint creak, then closes. Her anger rushes back and she chews even harder on her cereal. A simple _Have a good day at school_ is too hard. Too hard for him to acknowledge her pain. Too hard for him to acknowledge her at all.

Honking pulls Tifa away from her thoughts, and she swallows her last bit of breakfast. She waves her hand around to try and get rid of the smoke as she washes her bowl and puts it away to dry before racing outside. She smiles at the sight of Marlene hanging out of the window and grasping her hands in the air toward her.

“Tifa! Good morning! Let’s go to school!”

Tifa falters, tripping on the sidewalk, but wills herself to keep her smile on her face. She has to be strong in front of Marlene—her precious girl can’t know of Tifa’s fears. Marlene is the only one with an untainted view of her, and Tifa wants to keep it that way.

Once she slides into the seat next to Marlene, the girl hugs her tight and then clips on her seatbelt. Barret reaches over and ruffles Tifa’s hair as she straps herself in. She notes the concern in his frown lines but keeps up her smile as she pushes his hand away.

“Let’s get the day started,” he greets.

It’s not until Marlene has said goodbye — _Have a great day big sis!_ _—_ and is running up the sidewalk of Nibel Elementary that Barret clears his throat. Tifa knows exactly what he wants to talk about.

“I’m okay,” she tells him before he can get the question out. Her eyes dart to him, then back out onto the road. His frown lines get deeper; he doesn’t believe her.

“Then why are you fidgeting so much?”

The question comes out as a soft rumble, and Tifa looks down at her hands. Her fingers are all tangled together, pulling and straining against one another. She lets go and smoothes her palms on her jeans.

“I saw the way you reacted to Marlene. And Shera told me about what happened on Friday…”

“I…” Tifa tucks her hair behind her ear and inhales. She doesn’t want to be short with him, but she can’t have this conversation. Not now, not when they’re almost there. “I’ll be okay. I… have to go back, right? One day at a time.”

Barret gives her a side-long look that asks if she’s saying this for his benefit or her own. She doesn’t know the answer to that question.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, baby girl. You know that.”

Tifa stares into her lap and her fingers itch to intertwine again. “I know.”

But she can’t, and she hates herself for lying about it.

Barret doesn’t push her anymore, and the last minutes of their ride is quiet. But as Tifa slams the door of the truck and stares up at the school in front of her, she wishes she were back in there with him. At least there she was safe.

People recognize her straightaway, and she can feel herself shrinking under the heavy weight of their stares, of their assumptions. Tifa clings to the straps of her backpack as she walks through the yard, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Most of them keep their distance, but whether it’s out of pity or disgust, she can’t tell. She doesn’t want to know. Tifa would rather be anywhere but here – she wants to run as far away from this place as she can, out of this town, and never look back. But she has to come back here— _here_ of all fucking places in the world. She has to come here every single day, for months…

Tifa gulps down the rising terror. She can feel her hands shaking but is grateful no one can see them through her sleeves. She tries to maintain a normal gait as more and more people point and whisper. The urge to run gets stronger just to get away from the open stares of the schoolyard.

_“Wow, she actually came back.”_

_“What happened to her?”_

_“Did her accident fuck up her arms or something?”_

_“I feel kinda bad for her.”_

Tifa lets out a shaky exhale, keeping her eyes on the crimson letters that spell out the school’s name. She just needs to get inside. Then to her classroom. One step at a time. One class at a time. That’s the mantra that will get her through the day.

Once she crosses the threshold, however, she can feel her nerves unraveling. It becomes real then—she’s back at school. The cacophony of the hallways is too loud—Tifa squints as she walks past a boisterous group of freshmen. They pause their antics once they notice her.

 _“Whoa_ _,_ _that’s her?”_

_“She’s kinda hot.”_

_“I heard_ _she_ _gives favors.”_

Her arms circle her chest tightly as she continues down the hallway. One step at a time. Ignore them. It’ll be fine.

She stops at her locker to deposit the lunch Barret gave her—he knew her father wouldn’t bother. The whispers are loud enough to distract her, and she slams the door of her locker with too much force. Some girls nearby glance at her in annoyance. Tifa dips her head in apology and trudges away. Just keep going. It’s okay. She enters her history classroom, and her terror finally bubbles to the surface. The mantra holding her together crumbles to pieces.

Near the door are a group of girls who stop talking as she comes in. At their center is the Student Body President; frizzy brown hair up into a high bun, nails meticulously filed and painted, clothes pressed and perfect. She blinks at Tifa as if she wasn’t expecting her, but then her eyes narrow and her lips form a crafty grin. Tifa tries to remember to breathe—she calls on her body to inhale, exhale—as she stumbles past them and to her teacher’s desk, slowly putting herself back together.

“Oh, Ms. Lockhart,” Palmer greets her, the lilt in his voice diminished by his frown. “Glad to see you’re finally back.”

She only nods; the words get caught on the sandpaper in her mouth.

“Well, your seat is…” Palmer snatches a chart out of his desk and hums as he looks it over.

Tifa closes her eyes in silent prayer. Anywhere in the room is fine. As long as it’s not near—

“Ah, yes. It’s here.”

She opens her eyes to where his finger sits on the page. A chasm opens up inside her stomach as she reads the name etched into the square two rows ahead of her: Priscilla Rosemund.

The bell sounds, and Palmer shoos Tifa to her seat as he stands at the front. Tifa focuses on breathing once more, trying not to make eye contact with the girls. In her periphery, she catches Priscilla grin and feels her breath hitch but keeps going to her seat. She’s thankful to at least be in the back—maybe this way, no one will notice her.

“Good morning, everyone. We will continue our lesson on—Priscilla, what is it?”

Priscilla puts her hand down and stands. Tifa sinks lower into her seat. She knows this can’t be good and her tiny sense of relief flies out of the window.

“I just wanted to say a few words.”

Her brown eyes hone in on Tifa, who catches their malevolent glint. Her smile is friendly, almost cheerful, as she addresses the class.

“As many of you know, we almost lost one of our own over the summer in a terrible accident. But I would like to be one of the first people to welcome Tifa Lockhart back to school!”

_Accident._

Over twenty pairs of eyes seek her out. The blood rushes into Tifa’s ears. Everything else stops, but Priscilla’s words continue to ring as if they are the only sounds in the world.

“As the Student Body President, and as your former teammate, I just want to sincerely say that we are so glad you’re well enough to return to us!”

 _Sincerely_. _Her former teammate_.

Priscilla leads the class in a short round of applause, but it’s muted against the throbbing in Tifa’s chest, in her head. Tifa can feel the chasm in her stomach expanding, and she falls. She clutches at the skin under her sleeve, nails digging tiny half-moons, wide eyes focused on Priscilla as the girl finds her seat again. Why did she do that? Tifa heard the way she said _accident_. Her _former teammate_. Poison dripped underneath the honey of her words, and Tifa wonders why she even made the effort at all.

Priscilla wants to torment her.

Tifa swallows in quick succession, trying to fight back against the overwhelming urge to vomit all over her desk. She can feel the harsh stinging in her eyes, and she blinks back the tears. She won’t wipe them away—she won’t give her classmates that satisfaction. Instead, she stares into her book without seeing the words. Part of her wants to just die, to let the chasm take her, but the other part of her wants to leap across the rows and wrap her hands around the other girl’s neck.

Ahead of her, Priscilla giggles with her friends, and Tifa swears the word _“whore”_ floats down and stabs her in the throat.

* * *

Tifa is so trapped inside of her mind that she doesn’t register class going on around her. The bell rings, and she jumps, gripping her book, ripping a page. She feels a burning in the back of her throat but ignores it as she drops her book into her backpack and rummages around to buy herself time. She can’t pass by Priscilla again, so she’ll wait for the girl to leave with her friends.

Students file out of the room in groups, forgetting about her in the back. Tifa feels some comfort in being ignored until a pair of shoes stop next to her desk. She looks up to meet Priscilla’s eyes again.

Fear and rage swirl within her once more, and the room feels like it’s tilting as her emotions threaten to overwhelm her.

“Hope you have a great day, Lockhart.” There is no more honey, only acid. It burns her skin as Priscilla turns on her heel and walks out of the classroom.

It hits Tifa that she has this class with her every other day, and she can’t get out. Her breath hitches. She can’t escape—

“Ms. Lockhart?” Tifa drags her gaze to Palmer, who stands near the door, tapping his foot impatiently. “Don’t you have another class to get to?”

She nods, throwing her backpack over her shoulder and shuffling out of the room. The hallways are thinning out, so the students aren’t as overpowering as they were before. She makes her way to the other side of the school for her math class and slips into the room just as the bell rings.

Tifa glances at Shera, who tilts her chin toward her seat and continues lecturing. Keeping her head down, Tifa tries to shake off the students’ watchful eyes but pauses when she gets to the back of the row.

Cloud.

There is some concern in his eyes that makes her wonder about her appearance. She must look horrible, she realizes—she thinks of how many kids she passed by to get here. They must have also noticed the way her hands shake, the way her gaze darts away from theirs. She dumps her bag on the ground and looks away from Cloud, unable to answer the question she can see forming on his lips, opting instead to watch the courtyard.

Tifa has to remember to thank Shera later for putting her next to the window. It’s easier for her to focus on something like a butterfly or a snail and slowly relax, slowly forget about her current surroundings. It’s easier for her calm down and allow her breathing to return to normal as the class drags on.

When it’s over, she doesn’t feel jolted by the bell. As she turns to get her backpack, she sees Cloud standing next to her.

“Hey,” he says. He scratches the back of his neck like he wants to add something else but holds in it. He waits to see how she’ll respond.

She doesn’t know how. Not here, not at school. At Shera’s house, it’s easier. Cloud seems nice enough, and he knows nothing about her the way others do. But at school, she can’t associate with him. She knows how these kids are. If they aren’t already giving him shit for being new, they will for talking to her, and she doesn’t want that for him. She doesn’t want to cause him any issues.

He clears his throat, something she realizes he does when he’s nervous. Does she make him nervous? Tifa adds that to the list of reasons they can’t be friends.

“Do you have lunch next?” Cloud asks. His tone remains even; she has to be hallucinating the hopefulness she hears carrying underneath it.

“Oh. Yeah. But I… I have something to take care of.” She leaves it there, scrambling to pick up her bag.

As she slips past him, she hears, “Yeah, sure,” and he almost sounds disappointed. Part of her wants to turn back around and apologize, tell him that she does have lunch next and she would like to eat with him and not be alone, but she shakes it away. It’s better for him this way. She can’t make his life harder.

Another lie she’s told today. Maybe it will become second nature as the school year goes on.

Tifa thanks the stars for the vacant road back to her locker. Most students are out at lunch or in their classes, so she takes her time grabbing her lunch box and switching her books out. Her heart is throbbing so hard that if anyone were standing next to her, they would hear it. Only the muffled voices of teachers echo throughout the near silent hallway. She leans against her locker and considers eating her lunch right here on the floor. The cafeteria is too crowded and jolting. Too many eyes, too many sounds. But she doesn’t want the wayward students on their way to the bathroom to spot her and have something to tell their friends.

She takes her lunch and leaves for the courtyard, hoping to find a quiet spot, but Tifa regrets her choice immediately; students are too noisy and overwhelming here as well. Some wrestle at their tables, cackling, some play four-square in a corner. It’s too much movement, too much stimulation.

Tifa spots Cloud in the back of the courtyard texting on his phone, blocking out the world around him.The other students give him a wide berth, and she knows it has to be because of his lingering status as the new kid. He doesn’t seem to mind, occupying himself to pass the time, but it makes her a little sad. She thinks about joining him since he’s secluded compared to the rest of the courtyard and he’s all alone, but she pushes that urge down. Tifa a year ago would have—Tifa a year ago would have welcomed him and insisted on being friends so he didn’t feel so lonely. Tifa a year ago would have cared a lot less about the rumors.

But she’s not that girl anymore.

Tifa heads for the parking lot. She already turned him down—wouldn’t it look desperate for her to join him anyway? Tifa doesn’t want to send mixed signals. She enjoys being around him at the Highwinds’ home—they both relax more, and there aren’t any prying eyes dissecting their interactions. But it’s not the case here.

She finds a bench tucked into a corner and places her lunchbox on her lap, closing her eyes and letting herself find some semblance of peace. There’s no one out here on the edge of campus, and the noise of the courtyard is distant. She focuses on other things, things that don’t make her want to run away. She listens to the birds chirp, she smells the freshly mowed grass, she feels the soft fabric of her shirt. She smooths her hand over her lunchbox and reaches in for the hard plastic canister. She hears the pop as she gets the lid off and brings it up to her nose to smell the spices of the chilled soup inside. When she exhales, it’s the easiest breath she’s taken all day. When she opens her eyes, she’s still alone.

She’s still somewhat safe.

Tifa decides this is where she will eat her lunch and find her peace while at school. If she can get to this point every single day, if she can just wait on this moment, she can make it through the year.

Eventually, the bell rings, signaling the end of her tranquility. The tension that had melted seeps back in, and she takes her time packing her things. Tifa tries to impress the serenity of the past half hour into her mind so she can bring it to her next period. She has to carry this calm with her—she has to use it as a shield to protect herself from the wrath of those who would consume her. Two more classes. Then the day is over.

She breathes in the scent of the grass one last time before heading inside.

The bell marks her as late by the time she reaches her next class. The teacher who watches over her study period only eyes her for a moment before going back to his book. An indistinct murmur resonates throughout the room, students working together and chatting, and she pretends it doesn’t get louder as she searches for an empty table. Unfortunately, there are none; her stomach flips when she recognizes Cloud at the only otherwise empty table. He’s bent over his textbook, scribbling something. How fitting for the two lonely kids to sit together.

Tifa slides into the chair across from him and sits her backpack in her lap. Cloud looks up, annoyance marring his features before he recognizes who it is. His eyes soften, and damn him, he looks like he wants to say something. She becomes hyperaware of the whispers that carry to their table.

_“Doesn’t she know he beat some kids up?”_

_“Well where else is she gonna sit?”_

_“She’s got a reputation of her own, doesn’t she?”_

Tifa blinks under Cloud’s stare. His eyes shift to the students sitting behind her, and his mouth contorts into a grimace. He heard them too. Maybe he’s the one shutting them out, but she can understand why if they’ve been talking about him like this since school started. But, did he get in trouble? Is that why he’s staying with Cid and Shera?

“Hey again,” he says quietly. He’s still frowning, but now that he’s concentrating on her, it isn’t as pronounced.

“Hey. Sorry, this is the only open seat…”

Cloud shrugs. “It’s cool.” For a moment he watches her remove her books, and she thinks he will speak again. Instead, he turns back to his notes.

As she opens her statistics book, Tifa realizes she didn’t hear a word of Shera’s lecture today. She hasn’t been able to pay attention in any of her classes. The formulas and numbers blur together on the page, and she checks her planner to make sure she’s flipped to the right chapter. Maybe if she goes back a few pages and reads from her last tutoring session, she can figure it out on her own.

But ten minutes later, Tifa still struggles to put the pieces together. She glances up at Cloud, who is deep into his own book, and contemplates asking for help. He was so patient with her on Friday, but then again, Shera had asked him to. He seems busy now, and she doesn’t want to bother him. Tifa remembers the next day when she’d thanked him. He’d said he didn’t mind then—would he mind now?

It doesn’t matter, she tells herself. She shouldn’t associate too strongly. Tifa decides she’ll just ask Shera on Wednesday.

They both study in silence until the end of class. When the bell rings, Tifa gathers her things and leaves without looking at Cloud. She doesn’t want to give him the chance to say anything else.

She makes it to Home Economics with several minutes to spare and approaches her teacher about her partner. Before the woman can get a word out, someone taps Tifa on the shoulder.

Tifa twists around to meet the offender, nearly dropping her backpack. A short girl with black hair and a striking smile looks back at her.

“Hey! I’m your partner for the year.”

“Yuffie volunteered to partner with you when you came back,” Ms. Johnson tells her. “She’ll show you to your table.”

Tifa follows Yuffie to their workspace, the end of a long table that hosts three other pairs. There is some space between them and the next group, which Tifa is grateful for, but she knows Yuffie will use this illusion of privacy to talk.

She doesn’t dislike the younger girl. Tifa was just getting to know her last year when Yuffie got bumped up a grade, and they started having classes together. She isn’t malicious or cruel as far as Tifa knows, but she talks a lot. And if there’s anything Tifa would rather not do, it’s chat for the next hour.

Yuffie reaches across the table and grabs her hand. “Wel—”

Tifa snatches away, cradling her hand against her chest. “Don’t touch me,” she hisses before she can think, wincing at the harshness of her own tone.

Yuffie only stares at her with her mouth open, the words shocked out of her. But Tifa has to set this line, she has to make this very clear from the beginning. Sometimes Yuffie’s enthusiasm can get the better of her, and Tifa wants to make sure her and the other girl are on the same page before things get too far. Though it isn’t just her – Tifa doesn’t want anyone to get too close.

“Sorry.” Her large brown eyes are regretful, and Tifa feels bad for being so severe. But Yuffie recovers and her smile returns in a heartbeat. “Welcome back!”

Unlike Priscilla’s reception this morning, Yuffie’s is kind and genuine. Tifa’s chest still tightens, but it isn’t as acute as this morning.

“Thanks,” she mumbles as Ms. Johnson begins class.

Today’s lesson is proper measurement. Since it’s all lecture, Tifa zones out. She signed up for this class because she figured it will be an easy grade—the past five years of fending for herself at home has taught her more than this class could. Several minutes into staring past Yuffie and out of the window, Tifa notices something waving in front of her face.

Her eyes focus, and Yuffie’s hand withdraws back to her side of the table. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Tifa says, trying to keep the bite out of her voice.

“How do you feel about being back?”

Bile itches her throat again. She swallows it down. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, okay.” Yuffie glances around, then back at Tifa. “Are you gonna try to get back on the swim team? I think tryouts just ended, but I’m sure Corneo would make an exception for you.”

Ice runs through Tifa’s veins, stiffening every muscle in her body. Her jaw locks up, and she bites her tongue so hard she tastes blood.

Yuffie notices her reaction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean what?” Tifa barks, her voice rising just enough for the nearest group to glare their way. She gulps, trying to regain her composure. Her hands shake in her lap and she lets her fingers slide up her sleeve to paw at her arm. “Never mind. Just drop it.”

“I’m sorry—”

“ _Drop it_.”

They’re both silent for the rest of class. When the bell releases them, Yuffie fidgets with her things before she gets up.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t believe the shit people say about you.” Her tone is less friendly, but Tifa knows it’s because she hurt her feelings. She rationalizes to herself for the millionth time that it’s better this way and doesn’t answer.

On the way home, Barret asks her how her day went. She’s doesn’t answer him either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raise your hand if you feel personally victimized by Priscilla.
> 
> And shout out to SKEvans, Bishop, Kate, Thea, Jen, Brandon, and Connor for your amazing support. I love you!


	6. Incentive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks. Last chapter was very sad and angsty, I know.
> 
> This one ain't any better, I'm sorry to say.
> 
> TW//  
> panic attacks  
> vomiting  
> recreational drug use  
> implied/referenced past fight/abuse  
> slight biphobia

For the first time in a while, Cloud wakes up before his alarm. Sunlight filters into the room through half-open curtains, a gentle caress that warms him as he stretches. Today is different - yesterday was different, too. He walks across the room with a light step; he brushes his teeth and washes his face, and when he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t scowl. Instead, what Cloud sees reflected at him is a new sense of determination. His eyes don’t remind him of raging seas anymore - they’re more like a calm sky.

At breakfast, Cloud doesn’t have the urge to retort at everything Cid has to say, which earns him a raised eyebrow by the time they leave. During the drive to school, Cloud pays closer attention to the surrounding landmarks of Nibelheim, making a mental map of the town as they move through it. Shera continues her daily lessons on the town, hoping one day he’ll listen.

“Many people work factory or mining jobs in the mountains. Shinra’s brought a lot of other business to the area over the past several years, so it’s really grown.”

Cloud hums and points at a passing building with the Shinra logo. “How long have they been here again?”

His question startles Shera; she glances at him with her mouth open, then smiles. “Since when did you become interested in Nibelheim?”

He shrugs and remembers something she said to him on his first day of school. “I’ll be here for a while, right? It would make my life easier to know my surroundings.”

Shera laughs as the school comes into view. “Well, then let’s see…” She taps the steering wheel as she thinks. “Shinra has been in Nibelheim proper for about five years, but they’ve been in Corel for… oh, fifteen or twenty?”

“But people have been moving to Nibelheim for longer than five years?”

“That’s right. It’s a nicer place to raise a family, I think. Not as bustling as Corel or as big as Rocket Town, with their airport. Now people don’t have to commute as much since factories and businesses have expanded here.”

Cloud mulls over her words for the rest of the ride. So Shinra Corporation drives a lot of jobs and money to the area. He can’t help but feel cynical about their influence \- no wonder Rufus and his friends act like they own the place. In a way, they do.

“By the way,” Shera says as they approach the school building, “I saw what you did yesterday.”

Cloud raises a brow. “What?”

“You were being nice to Tifa.”

Oh, right. He’d definitely _tried_ , but that hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Tifa had avoided him when she could, and when she couldn’t, she had barely said a word. Something about her demeanor at school only makes him want to try harder, to let her know she has a friend in him if she wants one - but that clashes with his desire to give her the space she so desperately wants. Tifa’s evasion of the general student body, the way she protects herself through isolation, reminds Cloud too much of the way he used to hide while his dad hit his mom. He was too small to protect Claudia back then; he tried to help other kids, though that got him in trouble more often than not.

_“Leave him alone!”_

_Cloud recognizes the two boys who turn to face him - they’re a year ahead of him, in the fifth grade, and much taller. They’re standing over a small boy and cowering on the ground with his arms over his head. The boy trembles, and when he looks up to see his rescuer,_ _Cloud sees the fearful tears_ _down his face._ _It makes Cloud’s face grow hotter._

_“Get out of here, Strife! Mind your business!”_

_Cloud continues his approach. One boy, a red-head, grins,_ _forgetting_ _all about his prey. His lips make Cloud think of a clown - a maniacal smile too large for his face._

_“You want some too, huh?”_

_Cloud waits until he’s right in that boy’s face. He has to stare up at him, which fuels his anger, but he tries his best to make himself bigger by rising on the balls of his feet and puffing his chest out. These bullies don’t scare him; he’s faced worse at home from his father. He refuses to sit by and let them torment anyone - not as long as he can do something about it._

He rubs his jaw as he follows Shera to her classroom. Over time, he’s gotten better at following his instinct for self-preservation, but he still has a hard time fighting against the urge to protect those that can’t look out for themselves.

Shera stares at him expectantly, almost like she’s daring him to deny showing Tifa any kindness.

“It’s no big deal,” he says instead.

“It might not be to you, but I’m sure she appreciates it.”

Cloud shrugs and holds the door open for her. “Seems like she wants me to leave her alone.”

After setting her bag down, Shera pushes her glasses up her nose with a sigh. “I told you before, coming back is hard for her. I think she just needs a little more time to get used to you.”

He sits on a desk in the front row and scoffs. “I can’t force someone to be my friend.”

“Yes, well, I appreciate that you’re even trying.” Shera winks at him. “Since before you didn’t care to make any friends.”

Cloud rolls his eyes, and Shera turns to write some notes on the board. A minute or two passes before she speaks again.

“Besides, she’s pretty comfortable with you.”

The bell chimes, but Cloud barely hears it as he stares at the back of her head. It’s not until she eyes him over her shoulder and wishes him a pleasant day that he shakes himself out of his stupor and makes his way to his history class. Even once he sits down in his seat, Palmer’s voice remains a distant drone. Where could Shera have possibly gotten the idea that Tifa is comfortable with him? At school she keeps her distance, just like she does with all the other kids. The only reason she probably lets him in even a little is because of the tutoring or when circumstances force her near him, like in their study period. Sure, he was a good tutor, but that means nothing. She’s more relaxed at his aunt’s house. Hell, she’s likely just being polite.

Cloud shakes his head and starts doodling in the margins of his notes, pushing that thought away. Thinking like that about her isn’t fair - he can tell her first day back was rough. She was so tense and the way kids talk about her can’t help. Tifa is a hotter topic of conversation than he was on his first day. He feels bad for being grateful the attention is shifting away from him since it’s taking such a heavy toll on her. 

He continues to scrawl on his notes for the rest of class, and before he knows it, the bell is ringing again. When he walks into math class, he remembers Shera’s words about him being nice.

Tifa is already there and has assumed the same position as yesterday - her chin in her hand, eyes focused on the courtyard outside. He wonders what she’s concentrating so hard on, what’s drawing her attention away from this place that makes her so afraid.

Cloud takes a deep breath and tries not to dwell on it as Shera gets started. After a few minutes, he’s scribbling in the margins again. Just as he’s looking around the room for inspiration, Tifa runs a hand through her hair, and he spots her tattoo.

Cloud studies the two stars that spill out of the crescent moon before sketching them in the corner of the page. A few seconds later, he glances up to reference the tattoo, making sure to add the tiny black stars embedded in the moon. Tifa’s hair falls past her shoulder and the tattoo disappears, but he has pattern in his head. Cloud gets so caught up in the design that by the time the bell rings, the night sky covers his notes.

When he looks up from his notebook, Tifa is staring down at his desk. Her eyes catch his, and a blush sweeps across her cheeks before she turns on her heel and flees. Cloud closes his notebook with a sigh; now she probably thinks he’s a weirdo.

It’s hard not to hold her behavior against her when bitterness lances through his chest. Cloud tries to remember that she’s been dealing with these shitty kids for who knows how long. His time here will end, but she’ll still be here for who knows how long. As he navigates the hallways, the bitterness fades, and his shoulders droop as he thinks about the torment she must have gone through before. The whispers are bad enough; he can’t imagine the things people have said to her face.

Cloud wrestles with these thoughts while he wanders into the locker room to change clothes. Some boys in the next row laugh, and his ears perk up when he hears Tifa’s name.

“You see Lockhart? She’s back.”

“Yeah, she’s in my science class. She’s so fucking hot."

“You think what Rob said was true? About her blowing him in his car?”

“She’s got the mouth for it.”

"She'd fuck anybody. I saw her making out with Emma behind the bleachers once."

Their voices trail out of the room and Cloud’s mood sours. He finishes changing and joins the others in the gym. Kids are shouting and horsing around before roll call, and Cloud steers through the crowds to get to the bleachers as fast as possible. Once through, he spots Tifa sitting alone at the very top of the bleachers. He steps up to approach her, but her posture makes him reconsider.

Her legs are drawn up to her chin, and she faces away from the crowd, though Cloud can see her eyes dart toward the other students now and then. Her hair swings in a braid near her legs, her arms wrapped so tightly around her knees he wonders what she’s guarding herself against so fiercely.

Cloud keeps his distance - she obviously doesn’t want anyone to bother her \- and he sits at the bottom of the bleachers to wait for roll call. Unfortunately, Priscilla spots him right away, and plops down next to him not even a minute later, crossing one leg over the other. He scoffs and turns away, but she ignores his show of irritation.

“So, Cloud, is there anything the Student Council can do to make you feel more welcome?”

“No.”

Priscilla scoots closer, her shoulder brushing against his. Cloud jumps at the touch, glaring at her.

“Oh, don’t be that way. I’m just trying to be your friend.”

“I don’t remember asking.”

The coaches call for the students to get in order, and Cloud climbs the bleachers before Priscilla can say another word. He locks eyes with Tifa as she descends to join their class. She glances away from him, but not before he catches the way her eyes narrow at him. Great. Now what has he done?

“Hurry it up!”

Cloud’s frown deepens as he finds his spot in the rows. Tifa approaches the group with caution, flinching away from those who get too close. Cloud finds it difficult to not watch her when she finds her spot two rows below him and curls in on herself.

“Before we head outside, Coach Corneo has an announcement!”

Corneo motions in their class’s direction, and Tifa jerks when Priscilla clambers down the bleachers, almost as if someone had hit her. Corneo’s ring glitters, making Cloud squint. There’s a low, excited hum that moves across the crowd, but instead of lifting him up, it twists his stomach into knots. It reminds him of the way students watched Rufus pitch - this strange reverence these kids have for some people here makes him sick.

Priscilla jogs next to Corneo and smiles as he gestures toward her.

“I’d like to congratulate Priscilla on becoming our swim captain this year.”

Corneo nods at her, and her grin widens. Her jaw must hurt. 

“She will lead our team to impressive heights!”

Priscilla steps forward and clasps her hands together. “I’m so excited to serve our team, especially under the leadership of our world-class coach! Thanks for your support, everyone!”

Applause rings throughout the gym; a few students don’t take part, including Tifa. She’s still looking away, so wound up that Cloud is afraid she’ll bolt for the doors at any moment.

O’Connor shouts about splitting the classes into teams for baseball. Cloud flexes his fingers to relieve the constricting feeling he gets around his brace. Students shuffle down the benches, but Tifa stays where she is. Cloud doesn’t follow the rest of the class, opting to talk to Tifa first. She startles when he sits next to her, twisting toward him.

“What?” Her tone is shaky.

“You okay?”

Tifa doesn’t answer right away. She crosses her arms, the fingers of one hand digging into her skin until half moons appear.

“You should catch up to Priscilla,” she whispers.

Cloud doesn’t have time to respond before she jumps up to go outside. Irritation bubbles in his chest as Shera’s words about her being comfortable around him ring in his ears; he pushes it down and leaves the building. Someone nudges him, and Cloud glares up at Vincent.

“What did you say to her?”

“I just asked if she was okay.” Cloud pauses, then mumbles, “What the hell happened between her and Priscilla…?”

Cloud doesn’t realize he said that out loud until Vincent curses, running his hands through his hair before tying it at the nape of his neck and walking towards the alley. Cloud only follows, saying nothing even though words dance around in his head. In the few weeks that Cloud has known Vincent, he’s never seen him react like that to anything. Something about it makes Cloud want to clear the air - not exactly to apologize for wondering about Tifa, but rather to reassure Vincent that he doesn’t mean any trouble. Before he can put the words together, however, Vincent stops to pull a cigarette pack out of his pocket.

“It’s best to just… stay out of it. Leave her be.”

Vincent’s tone isn’t exactly the same as it was the first time they talked about Tifa, and he isn’t chastising Cloud for bothering her, not really. If anything, Vincent sounds more like he’s trying to protect Tifa in his own way.

“I need to take care of something. Make sure no teachers come by.”

Cloud finally speaks. “Yeah.”

He stays at the entrance to the alley while Vincent trudges deeper. From where he is, Cloud can see both coaches out on the field, pointing and shouting at the students to form groups and choose team captains. No one is paying them any attention, so Cloud turns to peek down the alley. Tifa is at the end, leaning against a wall and swiping on her phone. Vincent stays an arm’s length away from her, only reaching out with what Cloud knows is a pack of joints.

“Glad you’re back.” Vincent’s voice has taken on a softer tone. It’s hard to make out their conversation with the cacophony in the background, and though Cloud knows it’s intrusive to eavesdrop, he can’t push away the urge.

“Thanks, Vince,” she mumbles, not looking at him.

“Listen, if you need—”

Tifa shakes her head, cutting him off. “Please. Not now, okay? I just… need to be alone. And far away.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Tifa stuffs her hand in her pocket, but Vincent waves his own to stop her.

“These are on the house.”

Tifa rolls her eyes. “Vince, don’t treat me like I’m special.”

“Consider it a welcome back gift.”

He rests the pack in her open palm, his hand lingering for a second too long, and Tifa retracts her arm a little too quickly.

“I’ll text you later.”

Tifa only responds with a curt nod as she lights a joint with trembling fingers. Vincent shoves his hands in his pockets once he comes out of the alley, leading Cloud towards the rest of their peers.

“Were you friends?”

He would think Vincent didn’t hear the question over the shouts if his brow didn’t twitch. They push through the crowd until they get to the front, where Reno is waving a baseball bat around and picking students. He nods at them, and Vincent and Cloud join his side of the field. Another team grows around Rufus.

“Tell me you know how to play baseball,” Vincent says.

Cloud massages his arm. Part of him wants to ask his question again now that he knows Vincent can hear him, but he drops it.

“I used to pitch.”

A wolfish grin lights up Vincent’s face. “Perfect.”

Once the teams are set up, Vincent runs up to Reno and thumbs back at Cloud. Reno’s smile widens, which only brings the knots back to the pit of Cloud’s stomach. Reno beckons for Cloud to step up.

“You’re our pitcher.”

Cloud shakes his head. “I’m not really up for it.”

“Too bad. No one here would dare take on our star,” Reno drawls. “Besides, I wanna see you in action. I’m sure the rest of the class does, too.”

Cloud glares at Vincent, who shrugs and gets in position at second base. Coach O’Connor explains simplified rules to speed up the game, including only one out per team. Reno claps Cloud on the back and throws him a mitt and a baseball.

“You’re up, Spiky.”

“Don’t,” Cloud growls before approaching the pitcher’s mound. The glove suffocates his hand, swallowing it all the way to his wrist. His arm throbs with the added weight, while the baseball in his other hand might as well be lead. He hasn’t thrown one for a game in months - not since his arm was broken. Cloud could always pitch with both arms, but he preferred his left. He only hopes his right arm is good enough for gym class.

He spots Rude lining up at the batter’s box, cracking the knuckles of both hands before lifting the bat over his shoulders. Cloud shakes out his arms and stretches his neck to loosen up. When he’s done, he locks eyes with Rude.

Cloud takes a deep breath to steady himself. Some whispers of the crowd cut through the other noise.

_“He can’t be nearly as good as Rufus.”_

_“Rude for his first pitch? That sucks.”_

Cloud turns sideways against the batter’s box and inhales. A buzzing rings in his ears, drowning out all the other sounds. Time seems to slow down as he focuses on the way Rude positions himself - a little further away from the base than most, probably to account for his long reach. Cloud sets his mouth in a thin line and calculates his throw, cocking his arm back. The ball sails toward the batter’s box; Rude swings a split second too late, a satisfying _thump_ resounding when it lands in the umpire’s mitt.

The low drones of the field slowly filter back into his mind at full volume. Rude’s wide eyes goo back and forth between the umpire and Cloud in disbelief. The umpire tosses the ball, calling out a strike. Cloud catches it and settles into his starting position.

_“Beginner’s luck.”_

_“No way he strikes Rude out.”_

Cloud lets out a steady breath and watches the way Rude adjusts his position. As he transitions through the motions, his shoulders slacken; the ball weighs nothing now. The sound of his own breathing overwhelms the surrounding noise, and the ball flows from his fingers.

Rude misses again.

Reno and Rufus stand a few feet behind the catcher’s box. Reno’s shit-eating grin nearly blinds Cloud, while Rufus’s lips form a tight line that is nothing like the smile he usually wears on the field. Something about this fuels Cloud’s next throw, and he smirks when Rude’s bat whistles over the ball.

“Out! Switch sides!” O’Connor yells.

Rude grumbles as he turns on his heel and hands the bat to Reno. Reno sticks his tongue out at his friend.

“Nice throwing,” Rufus says when Cloud gives him the mitt. His tone is even, but Cloud doesn’t miss the flash of irritation in his eyes.

“High praise coming from you.” His smirk widens by a fraction, but it doesn’t escape Rufus’s notice.

Rufus takes the ball from Cloud with more force than necessary and heads for the pitcher’s mound.

Vincent puts an arm around Cloud’s shoulders when they line up to bat. “People rarely strike Rude out.”

“He’s on the team, too?”

“No. He’s just damn precise.”

Cloud snorts. A gratifying sense of victory makes his chest swell. “Not precise enough.”

Vincent’s grin returns. “So how long have you played?”

Rufus launches the ball straight into the umpire’s mitt. Cheers go up, mostly shrill screams from the girls hanging around the field, even from a few on Reno’s team. Reno shoots angry glares at them before getting back into position. When Cloud looks at Rufus again, the star’s cocky grin is back.

“A few years,” Cloud says.

“You usually pitch with your right arm?”

Cloud coils the fingers of his left arm, an uncomfortable tingle shooting through his nerves. “No. I prefer my left.”

Vincent whistles. “I’d hate to see the damage you could do.”

“Out!”

This carries on for the rest of the period. Some kids make it to second base on both teams, but neither Cloud nor Rufus allow anyone to score.

Ten minutes before the bell, O’Connor lets the students back into the locker rooms. As Cloud merges with the crowd, he spots Priscilla and two other girls heading for the alley. His stomach drops, and he makes a detour. Priscilla’s voice floats out of the alley.

“So? Aren’t you going to congratulate the new captain?”

This Priscilla is acerbic and bitter, just like she had been when Cloud overheard her brief conversation with her friend - nothing like the sweet, bubbly girl who addressed the gym at the beginning of class. He presses as close to the wall as he can to make sure no one spots him and glances down the alley.

Priscilla stands across from Tifa with her hands on her hips. It reminds him of the way his mother looked when she would scold him for getting into another fight. Tifa’s finished her joint by now, though the smell still lingers, and she continues to browse on her phone while Priscilla chides her. Cloud can’t tell if Tifa stays focused on her phone to ignore Priscilla or to distract herself, but it annoys Priscilla either way.

“What is it, Lockhart? Are you upset because you can’t be captain?”

Tifa winces, her thumb hesitating on the screen.

“Too embarrassed to come back?”

Priscilla’s clipped taunting contains a deep resentment that makes Cloud wonder what the hell happened between them. This can’t be a simple swimming rivalry - this has to be more personal. If the torment Tifa faces from the student body is bad, he can’t begin to imagine what being on the swim team with Priscilla must have been like.

Tifa finally looks up from her phone, irritation etched into her features, and she spits Priscilla’s acid back in the girl’s face. 

“Fuck off.”

Cloud blinks \- this can’t be the same girl who soothed Marlene on Saturday.

The shrill cackle that leaves Priscilla’s lips grates on his ears. “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t care. That private performance you gave Corneo says otherwise.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and laughs. “Thought you could put in a little extra work that way, huh?”

Tifa freezes, her grip on her phone so tight she might break it; she blanches as the girls around her snicker. Cloud bites his lip to keep the growl rising in his throat from getting too loud. If he reveals himself, Tifa will likely be mortified that he heard this conversation, but he has to say _something_.

Priscilla speaks again before he can make a decision.

“How many times did you fuck him? How many races did you get just cause you were willing to give him any hole he wanted?”

“I’m a good fucking swimmer. I deserved those races!” Tifa’s voice raises, but cracks on the last word.

Cloud can’t take anymore of this. He steps forward as Priscilla checks her watch.

“Bell’s gonna ring soon, and I wouldn’t set a very good example as the Student Body President if I was late to class.” She glares back at Tifa. “But know this, Lockhart - it’s no secret anymore. Everyone knows. At least I didn’t have to sleep my way to the top like a fucking whore.”

Cloud backs out of the alley and presses himself into the nearby alcove so the girls don’t sidetrack him as they leave for the locker rooms. Priscilla would definitely try to get him away from here if she spotted him. His chest tightens when he turns back down the alley.

Tifa hunches over, facing the wall, giving up everything she’s eaten in the last day. The sounds of her painful retching makes his own stomach churn, but he hurries to her side anyway. He hears her whimpering to herself as he gets closer.

“No, no, _nononono._ ”

She vomits again, trembling so hard she can hardly support herself; one hand braces against the wall, the other encircles her middle as if it’s the only way she can keep from falling apart. Cloud stops a foot away from her, and Tifa looks behind her to see who’s approaching. Her eyes widen when she recognizes him.

“This can’t be happening,” she croaks. Another wave of nausea overwhelms her. Tifa squeezes her eyes shut and tears leak from the corners as she throws a hand out to keep him away.

“Tifa…”

Cloud reaches out and barely brushes his fingers against her back before she twists away, slapping his hand, eyes bugging out of her head.

“Don’t!”

Cloud fights to keep his frustration out of his voice. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t—want your help.” Her voice is so low, but her urgency shocks him. She gulps before saying, “Please. Just leave me alone.”

Every fiber of his being screams at him to stay. He can’t leave her like this, not while she’s having a colossal panic attack. Cloud sees too much of himself in her - so many times he had to suffer alone, too many where he isolated himself so no one would see. It’s agonizing to watch her go through this - he wishes he could just force her to let him help. He hates feeling this helpless. 

Cloud summons every ounce of tenderness he can. His voice comes out soft in an attempt to cut through the rising tension. “There has to be some way I can help.”

Tifa doesn’t answer him right away. She swallows another round of nausea thickly, her body shaking as she chokes out a sob.

“You can’t,” she rasps. “I made a mistake, and no one can change it.”

Tifa lurches forward and heaves; nothing comes out. Cloud moves to help her, but she pushes him away weakly.

“ _Please go_. Just go.”

He steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Can I help you get to the nurse’s office at least?”

Tifa walks backward until her back is against the opposite wall and wraps both arms around herself.

“Why do you care so much?” Bitterness no longer taints her voice - now it only cracks with pain.

The bell rings, making Tifa shudder. She slides down the wall, drawing her legs up to rest her forehead between her knees. Her body racks with slow, wobbly breaths. Seeing her so broken causes guilt from his earlier thoughts to wash over him. The way she’s treating him isn’t about _him_ \- something about this place bears down on her so hard it rips her apart.

He sits next to her, making sure not to touch her. Tifa doesn’t move.

“Don’t you have class?” she mumbles.

“I have lunch next.” He maintains the warmth in his voice, hoping it will help relax her. “I don’t need to be anywhere for a while.”

Tifa sighs. “What about Priscilla?” She wipes her face with her sleeve and stares at the opposite wall. Her eyelids droop and her mouth curves downward, the words that leave now stiff and dull. “Aren’t you gonna tell her about how much of a mess I am?”

“We’re not friends.” She flinches at the sudden harshness of his tone, and he clears his throat. “I wish she’d leave me the fuck alone, honestly.”

There’s a muted huff that Cloud imagines is a laugh, though she’s not smiling when he glances her way.

“Don’t pity me,” Tifa mutters. “Don’t… try to be my friend just because Shera told you to. I’ll… be fine.”

Cloud wonders if she says this more for herself than for him - the defeat in her voice makes him think the former.

“I don’t pity you.”

Her eyes dart in his direction, and he can read her surprise.

“I’m not being nice just because Shera asked. I just… relate to you. That’s all.”

Tifa stiffens and puts her forehead between her knees again, her fingers bunching up her sleeves.

“You should go eat.” As he stands, she whispers, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Cloud clenches his fist. His first instinct is to be annoyed that she thinks he would gossip about her, but of course she would. Everyone else does.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he sighs.

When Cloud turns out of the alley, her quiet sob follows him, and it takes every ounce of willpower he has to respect her wishes and not turn back. He reaches the locker room and dresses quickly. By the time he gets to the cafeteria, the lunch line has closed, but Cloud finds that the thought of eating right now repulses him. His heart has dropped into his stomach. He tries to distract himself by aimlessly scrolling through the news and texts on his phone, but nothing can pull him away from today’s events. The bell rings, and Cloud makes it to Geography class with no issue, but his teacher’s voice becomes a muffled buzz soon enough. He doesn’t even realize he’s fidgeting until a classmate glares at him for tapping his pen against his desk.

A voice in the back of his mind nags that he shouldn’t be here. Sitting in class and doing nothing to help Tifa isn’t right, but he doesn’t know what else to do. Cloud can understand why she wanted him to leave - she didn’t want him to see her panicking from Priscilla’s taunting, but she’s also probably humiliated about the things he overheard. Even though he has a hard time believing what Priscilla said, to Tifa, it doesn’t make a difference. He still heard those awful things and, according to Priscilla, so has everyone else. Cloud didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable by sticking around, but leaving her alone doesn’t feel right either.

_Don’t believe everything you hear._

Vincent’s warning rings in his ears. Cloud sketches in his notebook again - class is a wash. Perhaps she had some kind of reputation before and she was a wild, rebellious teenager; perhaps her accident changed her and she doesn’t want to slip up again. Even if he accepted the rumors about Tifa, he doesn’t think less of her. Teenagers do wild shit all the time - the stuff he’d seen back in Midgar would give these kids _plenty_ to talk about. But she just doesn’t seem like the type of person to use those kinds of tactics to get ahead. From the tutoring sessions alone, Cloud can tell that Tifa would rather work hard to improve her own skill and get ahead on merit. If what Priscilla said _was_ true, it makes him more disgusted with Corneo than with Tifa.

The bell is a low drone in his ears; he doesn’t notice the other students shuffling around him until someone stands too close to his desk.

Rude stares down at him with his usual hard expression. Other students around them watch to see what happens, probably waiting for a fight to break out. Cloud’s frown deepens at the thought.

“Rufus wants to have a word.”

The power in Rude’s tone lets Cloud know he’s used to people following his orders — and therefore Rufus’s. But Cloud doesn’t give a shit about Rufus.

“I don’t answer to him.”

Cloud didn’t intend for his voice to carry through the room, but it’s impossible for it not to in the stillness. Their teacher remains at the front, cleaning the whiteboard like nothing’s happening. Even once the words are erased, she continues. She’s not going to interfere.

Rude’s jaw tightens, his voice low as he insists. “It would be in your best _interest_.”

Murmurs sweep across the room. The stares become too much; Cloud presses his lips together as he packs his things and follows Rude, but the gawking only gets worse when people notice them walking together. The whispers become more intense as they roam the hallways, and the anticipation of onlooking students is thick enough to make the hairs on his neck stand up. Many of them push against the lockers to give them space. Cloud fights to keep his mouth in a firm line as dread coils in his stomach. What the hell happens to people summoned by Rufus? It’s like he’s being led into a lion’s den, and the student body is only waiting to see if he’ll make it out alive.

_“What do you think Rufus wants with Strife?”_

_“New kid is definitely on his shit list for something.”_

_“Probably that stunt he pulled in gym today.”_

Cloud glares at the student who called his performance a “stunt.” The offending boy shrinks back in response, holding his books up to his chin.

The few minutes it takes them to arrive at a classroom on the opposite end of the school feel like hours. Rude opens the door and tilts his head for Cloud to go in ahead of him. The teacher is gone; in their place, Rufus enthrones himself on their desk, flipping a coin with a confident smile.A boy Cloud doesn’t recognize stammers under Rufus’s gaze, the only noise in the still room until Reno leans forward into his ear and the desk grates on the floor. The boy stops in the middle of his sentence as Reno whispers something, his eyes widening with each passing second. When Reno sits back, the kid jolts forward in the desk, reaching for Rufus.

“J-just give us until the end of the week, please! Our last shipment got delayed, but we should have it by Thursday.”

Rufus snatches the coin out of the air and slaps it against the top of his hand. A menacing smirk traces his lips as he peels his palm back and glances down.

“I’ll be generous. You have until Saturday.”

The boy dips his head in reverence. Cloud fights the urge to roll his eyes. They can’t be serious.

“Thank you so much. I’ll even throw in some extra to show—”

Reno _tsks_ , tapping the kid on the shoulder. “Little bold of you to promise anything extra when you’re already late on what’s owed, ain’t it Grant?”

Rufus lifts his head to stare down at the kid. “I would hate to start expecting that ‘extra’ in the future, only to be disappointed when you don’t deliver.”

Grant freezes up as Rude cracks his knuckles.

“Ah, yes, well… thank you again, Rufus.”

“You may leave.”

The boy nearly falls out of the desk as he scrambles to collect his things and bolt out of the room, not giving Cloud a second glance. When the door shuts, Rufus jerks his head at Cloud. Wanting this to be over as soon as possible, Cloud moves to the center of the room. He scowls at Rufus, who braces his hands on the edge of the desk and leans forward but says nothing.

“Thought we asked you not to be a stranger.”

From his periphery, Cloud spots Reno sprawled on the desks. He sounds hurt. Cloud scoffs and focuses on Rufus again, narrowing his eyes.

“Whatever it is you want, I’m not interested.”

“How long have you been pitching?”

Cloud opens his mouth to retort but pauses. That’s not what he had expected Rufus to ask about. The question brings gym class back to mind, brings Tifa back to mind, but Cloud pushes that down and focuses on the baseball game instead. The agitation on Rufus’s face as he watched Cloud pitch swirls through his mind, and he fights the urge to sneer.

“Since I was twelve.”

“In public after-school programs, I wager?”

Rufus doesn’t miss a beat in his attempt to keep Cloud off-guard. Cloud pinches his brow together, wondering where this is going.

Rufus reads the question in his eyes. “We know a lot of things about you. I make it my business to know who’s coming into my turf.”

The shrewd curve of his lips makes Cloud want to smack it right off of his face. Instead, he crosses his arms and stays silent. Rufus continues.

“Considering how you grew up, I just guessed at that detail. Looks like I was right.”

Cloud raises a brow as one of his hands balls into a fist inside his arm.

“How did I grow up?”

Rufus shifts back into a more relaxed position, reaching into his pocket for his phone. As he scrolls through the contents with one hand, he lazily dribbles his coin between the fingers of the other.

“You were born in Nibelheim. Cid Highwind is your mother’s older brother - her name is Claudia, correct?” He glances at Cloud as if expecting an answer, but only gets a hard glare in return. Rufus hums. “You moved to Midgar when you were five, got into a lot of trouble at school and even a few run-ins with juvenile police. Claudia likely started enrolling you in baseball camps to keep you out of trouble.” He locks eyes with Cloud again. “Shall I go on?”

Cloud’s mouth parts slightly in disbelief, but Rufus still notices. He chuckles and focuses back on his screen. Rufus, a boy who lives on the other side of the world, knows way too many details about him…

Cloud’s eyes become slits as the pieces come together. “Did you tell Heidegger about me, or was it the other way around?”

Rufus waves his hand dismissively, not looking up. “I think you know the answer to that question.”

Reno snickers, but Cloud ignores him. 

“You have connections in Midgar who can dig this stuff up?”

The coin pauses between Rufus’s middle and forefinger. “My father knows many people, which means _I_ know many people.” The coin falls into his palm. “When Heidegger informed us we were getting a new student, one from the big city no less, I found out what I could. And I’m glad I did.”

Cloud’s nails dig in his arms. The alarm bells going off in the back of his mind get even louder, but he doesn’t heed their warning to leave; his curiosity gets the better of him.

“What’s this about, then?”

Rufus slides off of the desk and paces the room. “You used to do odd jobs for people back home, right? How about you do a few odd jobs for me? For my father?”

Cloud’s brow pinches together. “What kind of jobs?” 

“Very simple. Pick up a few things here, drop them off there. Nothing dangerous.”

The hairs on Cloud’s neck stand up. These jobs might not be dangerous, but the way Rufus describes them, they don’t sound like simple errands - and they certainly don’t sound legal.

“I’m not getting into more trouble and going to jail for some kid I don’t know.”

A disapproving sound slips past Rufus’s lips as he looks through the window. “I thought you’d be smart enough to understand, but I see I gave you too much credit.” He flicks his wrist, and the desk behind Cloud scrapes against the floor. Reno is at Cloud’s side a second later with an envelope. Cloud stares at it warily.

“As I mentioned before,” Rufus says, clasping his hands behind his back, “we know a lot of people. My father might put in a friendly word for you somewhere as a token of his appreciation if you were to comply.” The sun gives Rufus’s eyes an eerie gleam as he looks over his shoulder at Cloud. “Maybe even do something about that record of yours.”

Cloud doesn’t answer. Rufus turns back toward the window as Reno waves the envelope.

“Consider that an incentive, a sample of what’s coming if you accept my offer.”

Cloud takes it cautiously and peeks inside to see a few hundred gil.

“Are you serious?”

Rufus speaks over him. “And if you do not accept, you can keep it as a ‘Welcome to Nibelheim’ gift. Show you how hospitable we can be. Give it some thought.” He waves his hand. “You may leave.”

Cloud drills holes into the back of Rufus’s head for a moment longer before clearing the room, stuffing the envelope deep into his pocket. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him, that all of this was just some weird dream he would soon wake up from.

Back home, he almost never turned down a job for some extra money, but the people in his neighborhood needed simple things - a tune up on their car, their sink fixed - and it was better to rely on a dependable kid than call some company that would only scam them. The fact that a clandestine meeting was needed and nothing was specified for Cloud lets him know Rufus won’t be asking him to fetch Mr. Shinra’s groceries like he used to do for Ms. Josie down the road.

Cloud mindlessly navigates the hallways to Shera’s classroom. When he reaches her door, he takes a deep breath to calm himself before entering, though that doesn’t stop the content of his pocket from weighing him down as he crosses the threshold.

“Oh, there you are!” Shera waves, barely looking up from her lesson plans. “I was just about to text you, but I figured you were making some friends or something.” She punctuates her sentence with a bright smile, meeting his eyes.

Cloud slides into a desk and rummages around for his textbook. “Yeah…” Shera hums and returns to her grade book while Cloud settles into his assignment.

They keep to their respective tasks, though it takes Cloud twenty minutes to realize he’s still on the same page in his history book. He rubs his eyes in an attempt to refocus, but he can’t get past the third paragraph. When Cloud glances at Shera, she’s still working through her lesson plans, oblivious to his turmoil, and he’s grateful. The thought of explaining any of today to her makes his stomach turn in on itself.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he says while getting up from the desk. Shera raises her head to say something, but he’s out of the door before she can.

Cloud stumbles down the empty hallway and yanks the door to the bathroom open. The events of the day slam into him all at once, and he doubles over a sink, coughing. He takes a gasping breath, trying to get himself under control, but he just starts hacking into the sink again. His arms shake, threatening to give out under him, his fingers growing numb.

Fuck, he hasn’t had a panic attack in a long time.

It takes him a few tries, but Cloud finally forces himself to suck in a long, deep breath and hold it. He counts the beats of his throbbing heart, and when he gets to five, he lets he go as steadily as he can. His whole body shudders as he does, but Cloud coaches himself through this exercise for several minutes.

He takes one last breath to ground himself before turning the water on and splashing his face. When he finally loosens his grip on the sink, his hands ache. Pain shoots up his left arm; he removes his brace and massages it once he’s done washing his face. He doesn’t want to return to Shera’s classroom until all signs of his unrest are gone.

Cloud would like to believe he still doesn’t care about Rufus, but seeing his power on display was unsettling. His control over the student body and his ability to get such detailed information on others make Cloud wonder what else Rufus is capable of. He obviously uses whatever information he gathers against his victims to make them do his bidding—

Cloud jerks his phone out of his pocket and dials his mother’s number. While it rings, his fingers tap against the porcelain in a staccato rhythm. Each second that passes, his heart thumps louder in his ears, until he hears a click on the other end.

“Hello? Cloud, honey?”

He whistles out the breath he had been holding and turns around to lean against the sink. Chattering and beeping machines in the background fill up the space until he can find his voice again.

“Mom, hey.” Cloud scratches the back of his neck, his now twitching fingers needing something else to do. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Someone shouts in the background. “I’m in the middle of my shift. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I just…” Cloud bites the inside of his cheek. “I just wanted to check in. See how your day is going. Sorry for calling during your shift.”

“Aww, I love you too. And it’s alright.” Claudia chuckles. “Hearing your voice will definitely get me through the next six hours, so thanks for calling, honey. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah. Bye, mom.”

Cloud puts his phone away and rubs his palms against his cheeks. His mom is fine - she’ll be fine. She can look after herself. Claudia can’t be in any immediate danger, not from Rufus. Did Rufus only want to flex his power, or did he also want to threaten Cloud into doing what he wants? He said the money was an incentive or a gift; Cloud doesn’t have to do anything. At least not right now.

He shakes his hands out and hides them in his pockets once he leaves the bathroom. Shera looks up as soon as he opens the door.

“Everything okay? You were gone for a while.”

Cloud slides back into his desk. “Yeah. I think something I ate at lunch is making me sick.”

“Oh!” Shera closes her grade book and stuffs it into her bag. “Let’s get home then. We don’t need to stay here any longer.”

Cloud doesn’t dawdle - he’d like to get out of this school as soon as possible.

* * *

That night, Shera makes soup for Cloud to eat even though he tries toconvince her that he feels much better. She asks about the rest of his day, and he has to concentrate on chewing while thinking of a response. He isn’t sure he should bring up the incident with Tifa, even though he knows they would appreciate it if he told them. But it’s not his place to mention it.

“We played baseball in gym today.”

Shera’s face lights up. “Oh, did you? How did that go?”

“Did you give that little shit Rufus what-for?” Cid grumbles.

Shera rolls her eyes. “Cid, please. Cloud, how did it feel? Were you excited?”

Cloud stretches his fingers. He isn’t wearing his brace now, but there is a lingering ache in his arm from his panic attack earlier. “It was fine. It was good to throw since I haven’t done it in a while.”

Shera points her spoon at him. “Is your arm okay?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

His foot taps under the table as he searches for a lie. He can’t tell them about his meeting with Rufus, especially Cid. His uncle would only think he’s getting into more trouble.

“It’s been hurting since gym, so I should probably start physical therapy again. I only used this arm twice, but it doesn’t feel the same.”

Cid’s spoon clatters against his plate, and his jaw tightens as silence looms over the table. Cloud knows his mother told them about his run-in with his father at the beginning of the summer, but he’s never mentioned it directly. It should reassure him that they care enough to feel bad, but the guilt marring Cid’s frown lines irritates Cloud instead. He can’t help but think that if his uncle had been there for them, things might have been different for him and his mom.

Cloud shakes himself out of those thoughts and keeps eating. No use getting lost in the past again.

Shera clears her throat. “I’ll call to set up your first appointment. Are Saturdays okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

The conversation shifts, but the tension hangs around even as Cloud helps Shera with the dishes. It’s not until she wishes him a good night that and he’s out of the house that the tightness unwinds in his chest. His mind doesn’t stop racing. His fingers twitch, and Cloud considers reaching out to Tifa to check on her. He takes his phone out of his pocket, but when he stares at it, Cloud realizes he doesn’t have her number. He starts typing a message to Vincent but doesn’t finish it. It feels intrusive to get it this way. Cloud erases the message and, not knowing what else to do with his itching hands, stuffs them in his pockets.

His hand brushes against the envelope, and he retracts like he’s been bit. Cloud stops in front of his apartment and looks at the envelope again. Part of him wants to chuck it into the woods or down a drain and forget it exists, but the devil on his shoulder convinces him those are stupid ideas and he should hold on to the money. There’s no obligation to do what Rufus wants him to do - he reminds himself that it’s just a welcome gift. Cloud has some money saved away, but from the work he’s already done on that car in Cid’s garage, he knows he’ll go through that pretty quickly. He can use this money toward that.

Shaking his head, Cloud pushes the envelope back into his pocket and trudges past his apartment. If he tried to sleep now, he’d just lie awake. Better to walk around and exhaust his body so his mind won’t keep him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cloud... oh no baby what is you doin????  
> Will he make the best decision in the end????  
> Will someone finally smack Rufus in the face????  
> Will Priscilla ever be taken down a notch??????
> 
> I know just as much as y'all do...


	7. Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellloooooo friends~
> 
> So, we've got another long one here. Or average length at this point. Who knows anymore.
> 
> Shout out to Jen, Chels, Thea, Brandon, Bishop, and Kate for their wonderful and amazing support.
> 
> TW//  
> referenced suicide attempt  
> self-harm  
> blood  
> panic attack, vomiting

_The night sky cradles her, every star glittering against her skin in a warm embrace. The clouds of another galaxy stretch as far as she can see, rippling across the soothing expanse. She is at peace here, weightless, detached from her past and all of its horrors. As long as she is here, the stars will protect her from anything that wishes her harm._

_Lights blend in front of her until a familiar face smiles with a tenderness that makes her heart ache. More stars shoot out to form an arm that reaches for her, caressing her cheek, the heat of a thousand suns little more than a gentle tingle._

_“Mama.”_

_Sparks crackle around her mother’s face as her smile widens. Another arm forms to bring her close and never let go._

_But her ghosts soon_ _wraps their icy claws around her ankles and_ _drag her down._ _The air_ _rushes around her_ _and she_ _reaches for th_ _ose stars, for her mother,_ _as they get farther and farther away, screaming to return to them._ _Her mother stretches out her hands, but the stars can only travel so far._ _The mountains grow toward the sky and the ground is there too quickly—_

_She’s in her bathtub. She tries to lift herself out, but her arms_ _are limp_ _. When she looks down, red lines_ _streak across_ _the insides, thick_ _,_ _viscous liquid seeping and pooling around her. The water changes from crystal clear to deep crimson and_ _overflows_ _._ _Panic erupts through her and she chokes,_ _but she can’t move an inch. She can’t escape._

_And then she_ _drowns_ _in her own blood, pushed out by her erratic heart._

Tifa claws at her throat, gasping. Her chest is tight, pain webbing through her lungs to the center of her bosom. When the pangs reach her heart, they grab and twist, causing her to bend forward and hold herself as if that’s the only way she’ll stay in one piece. Her gasps turn into sobs, tears falling onto her sweat-soaked sheets. Tifa shakes as she draws her legs up and wraps her arms around them, laying her forehead between her knees. She tries to breathe, but she can’t stop trembling, can’t stop crying, can’t stop hurting. Her scars  itch and the throbbing in her heart mov es down into her stomach.

She scrambles out of bed and for the bathroom, just making it to the toilet when the first surge of nausea overtakes her. Tifa hangs onto the bowl, white-knuckled, lurching into it . H er throat burns. Nothing but sticky, yellow bile comes up, and soon she’s dry-heaving. She hasn’t eaten in two days - she hasn’t left her room. 

When it finally subsides, Tifa curls up against the wall, her sobs racking through her body again. Her hands quake as she brings them up to her face and draws her knees up to her chest, making herself as small as she can in the hopes she will feel safer. Her nightmare still traps her; she gasps  to recover  the air being sucked out of her lungs from falling. Choking from her own blood, unable to surface—

She reaches into the bathtub, knocking her shampoo bottle over as she seizes her shaving razor. Trembling fingers break the plastic apart, scrambling for the straight-edge. It slices her finger as she grips it, but the prick makes her breath hitch. Tifa watches the blood dribble down into the creases of her knuckles and time slows down. Her body still shakes, but she’s so focused on the blood collecting on her skin that the nightmare recedes. The next breath is steadier, but it still feels like someone is stabbing her in the chest. Tifa gulps down hard and swipes the razor on the outside of her arm. Three thin lines appear. Her breathing slows, her loud panting growing quiet, until it’s silent. She stares at the wall with blank eyes; numbness seeps through her.

Then the stinging pulls her back down to earth.

Tifa drops the straight-edge with a squeal, fully realizing what she’s done. 

“No, no, dammit!”

She wraps her hand around the cuts, struggling to rise from the floor and get to the sink. Tifa runs the water immediately, bending over and folding her elbow into the basin, letting the water wash the blood away. She places her forehead against the edge of the sink and closes her eyes. The deeper she breathes, the more painful it is, but she pushes through that to calm herself.

“You’re fine. You’re not falling off the mountain. You’re not d-drowning.” A sob threatens to rip out of her throat, but she swallows it down. “You’re not dying. Just breathe. No one is here but you. No one is—”

Tifa suddenly stops and clutches her chest. Her mouth opens and closes, but the words get stuck.  S he tries again - she  has to get the m out. She has to say them out loud to make them real.

“No one… is hurting you.” Tifa shudders and lifts her head. Blood still leaks into the sink. She grimaces. “No one but yourself.”

The weight of her actions presses on her, and an unclean sensation  ripples up her spine . Tifa  tears her clothes off and flushes the toilet before stepping into the shower and scrubbing herself raw. When she’s done, she dries off quickly, dresses her cuts, wipes up  the mess, and puts more pajamas on.  Grabbing her moogle plushie , Tifa  crawls back under  the covers and curls  around the toy . She wrestles with sleep; sometimes she’s falling, sometimes she’s drowning, sometimes there’s nothing at all.  There’s a distant pounding somewhere , but she doesn’t move. Her stomach rumbles and she ignores it.

The pounding gets closer, and Tifa comes out of sleep enough to realize s omeone  is  knock ing on her door.  She pulls her covers over her head.

“Baby girl? You awake?”

Barret’s voice is soft, but his worry makes all of her guilt bubble over and she  hiccups into the moogle . Tifa doesn’t answer him, afraid of how her voice sounds.

The door creaks open and heavy footsteps come in her direction . When the bed dips next to her, she itch es to reach out and let him take her in his arms ,  but her shame keeps her hidden .

“Tifa, please come out.”

His deep, calming tone soothes her enough for her to lower her blanket to her neck.  T he concern in his eyes makes her  want to hide again, and she sniffle s to keep the tears at bay.

“What happened?”

Tifa shakes her head, burrowing into her toy . Barret sighs.

“Your appointment is  soon .” He brushes her hair away from her face and the tears finally leak.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says.

His brow creases; Tifa can see the question in his eyes. Barret knows enough to know she panicked, but after a few moments, he can see she won’t elaborate why. He sighs, his features relaxing as he lets go of his question and settles on comfort instead.

“Shh. It’s alright.” Barret sweeps a thumb across her cheek with all the gentleness in the world. “Get dressed okay? Were you sick?”

Tifa can only respond with a slow nod. 

He frowns with worry. “Okay. I’ll make you something easy to eat.”

“I-I can’t.” The words burn in her ragged throat.

“You gotta try baby girl.” He squeeze her hand. “I’ll come check on you in a few minutes. I want you out of the bed by then.” 

Barret kisses her forehead and leaves. Tifa  sinks back under her covers.

* * *

It takes Barret two more tries to coax Tifa out of bed, and another fifteen minutes for her to dress and eat. On the way to the hospital, Tifa doesn’t say a word and Barret knows not to push; instead, he distracts her with stories about Marlene. She’s adjusting well to the fifth grade, making new friends, and helping her teachers whenever she can.

“They elected her class leader for next month! She was so excited when she came home.” Barret chokes up a little, and Tifa sees him wipe an invisible tear away. A small, amused huff escapes her lips. He raises a brow, but continues. “I’m so proud of her. She’s really growing into her own.”

Tifa  nods in agreement \- Marlene has  become an inquisitive, precocious girl over the past ten years. She’s still shy with adults, but it doesn’t surprise Tifa that Marlene is making friends easily at school and her peers admire her enough to  give her such a vote of confidence . She’s a joyous ball of sunshine, and as Barret talks about her, Tifa realizes how much she’s missed the little girl over the past two days. Her smile gets wider as she thinks about Marlene, and her heart swells in her chest. Maybe she’ll get to see her today. 

The hospital comes into view; her smile  vanishes . Apprehension coils in her gut, fueling her guilt and shame. She rubs her bandage through her sleeve. Tifa wishes she could turn back the clock - she wishes she could change all the things that have led her here. Different decisions in her past might mean she never hurt herself in the first place, never tried to escape from it all, never ended up here. Though Tifa knows it is irrational, she resents the hospital. Every time she comes here, she remembers her failure , then hates herself for  wishing she’d succeeded . Sometimes she isn’t sure if she’s glad they were able to save her. 

Sometimes she wonders if she’s worth saving.

Barret navigates through the parking garage and stops on the third floor. He turns to Tifa, who doesn’t move from her seat. 

“Better?”

She gives him a curt nod. “A little.”

He tussles her hair and  even though she wants to be annoyed, a giggle slips past her lips , releasing some tension in her shoulders . Tifa instinctively reach es up to push his hand away and  Barret re lents . 

“Good. Want me to come inside with you?”

“No… can you wait here?”

He leans over to pull a book and a pair of reading glasses out of the glove compartment. “No problem.” Barret puts his glasses on, resting his book on the dashboard. “You wanna ride with me to get Marlene from school  when you’re done ?”

Tifa pauses, her hand on the door. She doesn’t want Marlene to see her so haggard, but she misses the little girl’s bright smile. 

“I do , but can we see how I feel after?”

“No pressure. Just let me know what you want to do when you get back.”

Tifa nods again, but hesitates. Barret is about to ask her what’s wrong when she throws herself at him and wraps her arms around his neck with all of her strength. He hugs her back  just as hard .

“Thank you, Barret. I love you,” she whispers.

“Love you baby girl.” He pats her on the back. “Now go on, you’re gonna be late.”

She squeezes him before letting go, opening the door and sliding out of the  truck .  Vulnerability seeps through her body once she is no longer by his side , though the feeling isn’t as intense as when she’s at school. Barret has always been such a strong pillar for her; he and Marlene are the biggest lights in her life. When she’s with them, Tifa feels almost whole, like nothing can touch her.  W hen they’re gone, emptiness and insecurity spread through her mind like a disease.

As she waits for the elevator, Tifa checks her phone. There are two messages from Vincent, but she files them away for later. She knows she should talk to him at some point, but it’s too hard right now. They were never particularly close, but at least she could call and hang out with him when she needed to be around someone. When she needed to feel less lonely, and even just for a moment, like someone wanted her. 

Her mind wanders to someone else once she steps into the lift, someone she consider ed a close friend. She wonders how he’s doing, and her fingers instinctually navigate to where her online messaging app used to be \- but she deleted it several months ago. Tifa blinks back tears - she can’t talk to him anymore.  Even if she were to log back into the website, h e probably thinks she’s dead and she knows her last message hurt him. He meant so much to her, and Tifa likes to believe she meant a lot to him too. Just one more thing she’s fucked up.

The bell dings on her floor , startling her away from her thoughts.  Tifa  creeps out and navigat es the corridors to her doctor’s office. The sterile feeling of the hallways makes her fold her arms and huddle inward. She’s brought back to her time here - the constant supervision, the  isolated rooms, the  pills . Most of her month here remains clouded by a haze between her recovery and the medication she was under before they found something that seemed to work well for her.  So much for that, considering her slip up this morning. She shakes that out of her head as she walks into her doctor’s office and heads for the reception desk.

“Excuse me, I’d like to check in, please?”

The woman on the other side of the window takes her name and hands Tifa a clipboard with a questionnaire . Tifa finds a seat and picks up the pen hanging from the top, hesitating once she reads through the questions. What if they make her come back because of her  episode this morning? Maybe she should lie… but that would only hurt her more in the long run. They only want to help, she reminds herself, and the best way for them to help is if she’s honest.

“Tifa?”

Tifa clutches the pen and looks up at the woman  calling her name . Dr.  Lucrecia  Crescent adjusts her glasses and waits patiently with a welcoming smile . Tifa holds the clipboard to her chest and gets up, following the doctor to an office with an oak desk and two large, comfy chairs that face each other.

“Please sit down,” Lucrecia says as she closes the door behind them. 

Tifa finds the chair facing the door, hugging th e throw pillow and crossing her legs in the seat. Lucrecia grabs a notebook from her desk and sits across from Tifa . As the doctor opens her notes, Tifa struggles with her rising paranoia, shuffling her feet under her and gripping the pillow . She knows Lucrecia has to take notes throughout their session as part of her job, but sometimes Tifa  thinks the woman looks back on them and  wonders how she ended up with such a pathetic patient.

“How is Barret?” Lucrecia asks. She always starts by asking about him and Marlene.

Tifa takes a deep breath to steady herself. The question always helps her relax. “He’s good. He dropped me off.”

“And Marlene?” 

“I haven’t seen Marlene in two days, but Barret says she’s doing great.”

Lucrecia tilts her head. “Why haven’t you seen Marlene?”

Tifa looks down into her lap and plays with the ends of her sleeves. “I… haven’t been to school, so I haven’t seen her in the mornings or afternoons.”

The doctor takes down a note. Tifa scratches her arm. 

“Barret mentioned that he had to pick you up early from school on Tuesday. What happened?”

Tifa’s grip on the pillow  becomes painful , her nails digging into the polyester. That is her least favorite phrase, her least favorite thing about therapy, even though she knows it’s the point. Tifa has to get her emotions out or else she’ll break again, and she just can’t allow herself to do that. But she wishes she were strong enough to just deal with them on her own. She wishes she could lock them away for just a little longer. Just until she can leave.

Bottling her feelings up is part of her problem, she tells herself. So, Tifa takes deliberate, even breaths. She recounts her first two days back at school, struggling as she mentions Priscilla, her voice oscillating between quaking rage and paralyzing fear. She has to stop  multiple times to collect herself, and Lucrecia doesn’t push. Now and then she takes notes, but for the most part the older woman studies Tifa  with  a calm and sympathetic focus. 

“How am I supposed to go back?” Tifa asks near the end of their session. “And face people like Cloud? He knows now… or at least, he heard what Priscilla said. He might ask about it. He might look at me differently.” Tifa buries her chin into the pillow. “It’s easier if he leave s me alone.”

Lucrecia pushes her glasses up again . “He’s the one who tutored you, right?” When Tifa nods she asks, “And you want him to leave you alone?”

“He… he kept trying to help. Kept asking how he could help. I just wanted him to leave.”

“Did you?”

Tifa stares back at Lucrecia, whose face does not change.  She struggles to answer the question - her first reaction is of course - Tifa wants everyone to stop bothering her. It would make school so much easier. But as she reflects, different feelings surface and she questions that desire to be alone. She’s always thought it was safer that way, but deep down, she hates the way it feels. 

“It’s just that he’s new here. He’s the only person who doesn’t…” Tifa paws at her  bandage , brow furrowed as she tries to form her words. “It’s like he’s not tainted by this place. But those things Priscilla said, he’s going to pity me or… or think I’m disgusting.”

Lucrecia leans forward and crosses her legs. “Why do you care what he thinks?”

Another question that digs deep. Tifa isn’t sure how to answer it, and the doctor picks up on her hesitancy.

“Do you think it’s because you’re lonely? Cloud could be a friend to you.” At Tifa’s bewildered look, she shakes her head. “You haven’t mentioned very many friends in the past several months since I’ve been seeing you, except for someone you used to speak online with and Vincent. Have you spoken to either of them since?” 

Tifa bites her lip. “I… no. I can’t… it’s too hard to talk to Vincent.”

“Why?”

She  suppresses the irritation that flares up. Always _why, why_. 

“I don’t want to find out what he really thinks about me. And for my other friend… I… I’m afraid of what he’ll say. I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Don’t you think he’d like to know you’re okay?”

Tifa shakes her head. “But what if he’s angry? What if he hates me for what I put him through?”

Lucrecia sighs. “You said he was someone you confided in. You told him almost everything. I’m sure he would understand. I think you should reach back out to him and try.” She leans back in her chair, but keeps Tifa in her steady gaze. “I also think it would be good for you to stop shutting people out who are trying to care . I know you and Vincent weren’t very close before, but he could have been a friend too, couldn’t he?”

“It’s not… it’s not that easy.”

Lucrecia gives her a small smile. “No one said it would be easy. I know that the closer people are, the easier it can be for them to hurt you. The more people learn about you, the more they have to use against you. But not everyone has an ulterior motive.” Lucrecia scratches her chin. “We need to find a healthy balance between vulnerability and guarding ourselves. It will take some time, but I want we’re going to try, okay?”

Her gaze shifts down to Tifa fingers; Tifa is scratching her arm through her sleeve again. 

“Anything else?”

Tifa knows that Lucrecia won’t accuse her of hurting herself - she’ll instead give Tifa the opportunity to admit it. Tifa wants to lie and say that’s all, there’s nothing else. But as the words sit on her tongue, they turn to ash. As much as she hates acknowledging what she’s done, as much shame as it brings her to even think about it, she knows she needs to tell Lucrecia. 

“This morning I… I had a nightmare about killing myself. And I… I freaked out.”

Tifa waits, watching Lucrecia’s face for any sign that the woman is judging her - a wrinkled nose, a scrunched-up face - anything that says ‘this girl is pathetic, disgusting, not worth saving.’ They’ve been over this before and it’s  unfair  to  project those things onto her doctor . But every time, every single time Tifa has to admit to something so awful, she wonders if Lucrecia regrets ever taking her as a patient. 

Lucrecia doesn’t flinch at Tifa’s admission; she remains calm and waits for Tifa to continue, which is comforting. 

Tifa breathes a sigh of relief. Part of her knows Lucrecia won’t judge her, but always feels better when she sees it.

Tifa rolls her sleeve up to the elbow, revealing the bandage. Lucrecia takes a deep breath. 

“You cut when you’re panicking.”

“It grounds me…” Her voice is a low whine; it reminds her of a scared child.

“There’s nothing wrong with having grounding techniques. But you have to find healthier ones. Why don’t we spend the rest of our time talking about some, and then I want you to try a few of them between now and our next session, okay?”

* * *

Tifa slips into a bathroom on her way back to the parking garage. She needs a few minutes to collect herself after her appointment. Her doctor is right about everything, just like she always is, and Tifa knows it’s going to be difficult to follow through on the things she told her. But as she stares at herself in the mirror, she can see the flash of resolve in her eyes. She has to try. Right now, her biggest enemy is herself.

Once she finishes her silent pep talk, Tifa splashes her face, dries off, and goes back to the garage. Barret glances up from his book when she knocks on the window and leans over to unlock the door. As she slips inside, he cuts on the engine.

“How was it baby girl?”

Tifa waits several beats before answering to gauge her emotions. She feels calmer now, better than she has for the past several days. As much as she dreads the hospital and hates talking through this stuff, she has to admit that it’s helpful.

“I’m okay now.” She pulls her hair over her shoulder, twisting it between her fingers. “Can we pick up Marlene?”

Barret hands her his book and reading glasses with a grin. Tifa puts them where they belong and they drive away from this haunting place toward her little sunshine.

When they pull up to the school, Tifa gets out of the truck and leans against the hood for Marlene. She wants to see her before Barret, and when the little girl turns the corner with some of her classmates, she’s glad she positioned herself where she is.

“Big sis!”

Marlene runs up to her, abandoning her friends with a curt goodbye. Tifa squats down to give her a tight hug, smoothing a hand over her hair and kissing her on the cheek.

“Hi Marlene. How was school?”

Marlene’s smile is so warm and bright, Tifa almost forgets her worries. “Awesome! I got to feed the class pet today!”

Taking her hand, Tifa leads her into the truck. Marlene climbs in while still chatting about school and gives Barret a hug. She fills the entire ride home with her twinkling voice, recounting every detail.

“And then Bobby ran for home base, but I got him with the kickball!” Marlene giggles as they walk into the house.

“You sound a little too excited about hitting someone with a kickball,” Barret remarks.

Marlene sticks her tongue out and plops down at the dining room table. “Bobby was okay. I didn’t hit him in the face!”

Tifa snorts as she walks into the kitchen to grab water for herself and Marlene. Barret takes two apples out while they get settled at the table.

“So, what do you have for today?”

Marlene removes her planner from her backpack and lays it on the table. “Well… I have to finish my vocabulary packet for Mr. Rogers… and…” Her nose scrunches in disgust. “My long division problems for Ms. Smith.”

Tifa smiles. Barret places apple slices in front of both of them with a small container of peanut butter. He winks and goes back into the kitchen. Marlene’s hand stretches instinctively toward the snack as she looks through her homework.

* * *

Some time later, Barret comes back from his workroom to rummage around in the fridge. Marlene is just finishing the last few problems with Tifa’s help when Barret pulls ingredients out for dinner.

“What are you making, Barret?”

He opens a pack of meat in the sink. “I want to try a new recipe for spaghetti.”

Marlene perks up. “Oh, my favorite!”

“That’s right! Y’all wanna help?”

Tifa nods. “Yeah. I think I can.”

“Yes, please!”

Barret scoops Marlene onto his shoulder, her loud shrieks filling the room. “Come on, little munchkin!”

He hands her the recipe book and Marlene rests it on the top of Barret’s head while she leads them through the instructions. Barret handles most of the prep work, and Tifa knows it’s because he doesn’t want her anywhere near sharp objects. She doesn’t fight him on it; she’s more comfortable with the stove for today, anyway.

They have a great deal of fun while cooking. Marlene praises them for their hard work and digs in the moment they sit at the table. Tifa eats with caution so she doesn’t disturb her stomach, but she has to admit - this recipe is pretty good.

“Daddy said you haven’t been feeling well. Are you better today, Tifa?” Marlene asks halfway through dinner.

Tifa hums. “Yeah. I feel better today, sweetheart. Thank you.”

Marlene’s eyes sparkle with an idea. “Can we have a sleepover? We haven’t had one in a long time!”

Tifa swallows, but doesn’t answer immediately. Barret picks up on her hesitation.

“Your room is always ready.”

Her teeth find her lower lip. “I don’t want to impose…”

Barret frowns. “You’re never imposing, baby girl.”

Marlene grabs Tifa’s arm and shakes her vigorously. Tifa’s first instinct is to yank away, but she holds steady - she doesn’t want to scare her sunshine.

“Come on, big sis! Stay! I can read you a bedtime story!”

This makes Tifa laugh. “Okay okay. You know I love your bedtime stories.”

“Can I help you pack some stuff?”

“Sure. After dinner.”

They wash and dry the dishes together. Marlene takes Tifa’s hand and pulls her out of the house in her excitement, skipping down the street to Tifa’s house. Once there, they go straight upstairs to pack. Tifa gets enough to last her through the weekend since she’s sure she’ll stay that long. Marlene helps her pick out her clothes, including pajamas to make sure Tifa matches Marlene’s pajamas as much as possible. According to her, that make sleepovers more fun.

“Can I braid your hair?” the little girl asks as they walk back.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m a kind of tired tonight.”

Marlene lets out a disappointed sigh. “Okay.” She forgets about that letdown a second later, her features brightening once she thinks about something else. “I just got a new book, so can I read you the first chapter tonight?”

“Of course. I’ll be waiting in my room after you wash up, okay?”

“Yeah!”

Inside the house, Marlene runs straight up the stairs past Barret, who is sitting on the couch watching a rugby game with the newspaper in his hands.

“Marlene, slow down! Don’t run up the stairs!”

They hear her hard footfalls even out, then speed down the hallway. Tifa starts to follow Marlene, but hesitates. The guest room at Barret’s house might as well be her semi-permanent room. Tifa keeps some of her things here for nights like this where she stays over. She hasn’t been here since before her incident, and she wonders if everything is the same, including her piano. Tifa hadn’t thought about it until she and Marlene arrived back at the house and something about facing the instrument makes her pause. She turns around and sits down next to Barret, depositing her bag at her feet. 

“Hey.”

Barret glances down at her while he flips the page. He’s in the sports section, taking notes on the scores from the games over the past weekend.

“Do you still run that fantasy league at work?” she asks.

“Mmhm,” Barret answers as he marks down another score. His mouth turns downward in concentration, but she knows he’s still listening; he’s waiting for her to get to her actual question.

Tifa fidgets in her lap for a few seconds before opening her mouth again. “Is… the piano still in there?”

He folds the newspaper onto his lap and gives her his full attention. His frown lines grow deep. “Of course it is. You think I’d get rid of it?”

“No! No…”

Tifa bites her lip as she tries to voice her thoughts. Barret would never get rid of something that belonged to her, not without consulting her about it first. But she hasn’t played since she went to the hospital. The thought of the piano makes her nervous; it carries so much, and she’s not sure she can handle those burdens right now.

“I just wanted to be sure.”

“Something wrong?”

Tifa sighs. “I don’t know… when I’m going to get back to playing.” She turns her arms up and can almost see the scars through her sleeves. “If… I can even play,” she whispers, more to herself than to him. Tifa’s eyes widen once she realizes she said those words out loud, and she catches the way Barret’s eyes grow with sorrow. She stands up and grabs her bag. “Oh, I’m sorry, forget I said—”

He rises and pulls her into a bear hug; she immediately returns the gesture. Tifa always thought hugging Barret was like hugging a warm tree trunk, but his embrace always made everything seem alright, even for only a few seconds.

“Don’t apologize, baby girl.” His voice is so tender she can barely hear it over the television. “I’m gonna make sure I hug you as tight as I can as often as I can, you hear?”

Tifa swallows down the lump forming in her throat. “I almost left you. I almost left Marlene. I’m so sorry.”

He shushes her, his hand on the crown of her head. Tifa backs away enough to look up at him.

“Don’t worry about that anymore. I’m just glad…” His Adam’s Apple bobs, and she can tell he’s holding back his own tears.

There are few times Tifa has ever seen Barret get emotional in this way, and her heart breaks into a thousand pieces because she knows it’s her fault.

“I’m just glad I got to you in time.”

She sniffles, wiping the tears that threaten to breach. “Me too.”

“Tifa?”

They both look up and see Marlene on the landing of the staircase, a tiny fist digging into her eye.

“Yes, Marlene?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t read you that story tonight. I got really sleepy after my bath. Is that okay?”

Tifa smiles. “We can read it tomorrow, sweetie. That’s alright.”

“Okay.”

Barret kisses Tifa on the head and lets her go. “Why don’t I tuck you in, munchkin?”

“Okay daddy.”

Tifa watches Barret approach the steps, her mind racing. As shitty as this town is, she is forever grateful to have him and Marlene. She thinks back on her session today - she _does_ want to let in people like Vincent who are trying to care, but she’s afraid of hurting them with her fears and instability.

Hurting them like she knows she hurt _him._

“Barret?” She calls when he’s halfway up the stairs. He turns to her. “I’m going to go for a walk if that’s alright.”

“You have your keys?” Tifa affirms and he asks, “Want me to wait up for you?”

“No, it’s okay. I just need to think.”

“Don’t be out too late. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Tifa pulls her cigarette pack from her bag and tucks it away with her phone before setting off. Hands in her pockets, she heads toward the edge of town, passing by the animal shelter. It’s closed, but she stops to lean on the gate for a few minutes. The scattered toys and equipment make her think of the strays and abandoned animals that end up here, and she realizes how much misses them. The animals don’t judge, they don’t sneer - they just want someone to love them. Maybe she relates a little too well to them, but at least here, all her anxieties wash away, replaced by their warmth. She can’t wait to start volunteering again. Hopefully her favorite tabby has been holding up without her.

“Tifa?”

She jumps, turning around and pressing herself against the gate. Blue eyes stare back at her from a few feet away under a streetlight, a mess of blonde spikes haloing his face.

Cloud’s mouth turns down, guilt marring his features. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Sorry about that.”

She gulps down her surprise. “It’s fine.”

Tifa folds her arms, her sense of security fleeing with every second under his gaze. Cloud barely moves except to crane his neck and scratch the back of his head. He finds her eyes again and she looks away.

“How are you?”

She wants to roll her eyes at the question, but remembers her conversation with Lucrecia that afternoon and resists. Tifa remembers him saying he relates to her, but she still has trouble understanding why he cares. She knows part of her irritation at his probing stems from her own fear. Fear of what he thinks of her now, fear of how he’ll treat her going forward, fear of…

Tifa buries those thoughts, willing herself to not get lost down that rabbit hole.

“I’m alright.” She’s not sure if she should elaborate, or even how she would, so she keeps her mouth closed. Tifa fights with the urge to run away, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.

Cloud clears his throat. “That’s good. Uh… Shera was asking about you.” Her face contorts with worry and he adds, “I didn’t say anything.”

The pressure building in her chest releases. “Thank you.”

Cloud seems to sense her nervousness. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’ll… let you go. Sorry again.”

“It’s okay. See you later.”

His lips twitch and he steps forward like he’s going to come toward her. Cloud falters, his brow furrowed like he’s contemplating something, and he turns in the opposite direction to leave. Tifa watches his disappearing figure until he turns a corner and fades into the night. She takes another moment to steady her breathing before she continues on to her usual spot.

Tifa tries to push Cloud out of her mind, but he lingers. She’s glad he respected her space enough to turn in the other direction, and she can’t help but mentally add that to the list of his considerate actions. Tifa mumbles to herself; she should _not_ be keeping track of such a thing. Her mind wanders - she wonders if she should be concerned about her fascination with the boy from Midgar, but immediately begins pushing thoughts of Cloud out of her mind. She can’t spend her evening thinking about him.

Tifa stops on the side of a dirt road and looks around. When she sees no one in her immediate vicinity, she turns down a wooded trail and emerges in a clearing with a creaky old water tower in the center. Stamped across the large cylindrical tank is the town’s name: **Nibelheim** , half the letters faded so the word is barely legible. A vestige of the old town before the city center shifted further west decades ago, Tifa discovered this water tower years before when she was out playing with friends in the woods. No one really comes out of their way to visit it, which makes it the perfect spot for her to unwind.

She climbs the ladder, grateful that whoever built this thing had the mind to include a metal ladder instead of a wooden one. Reaching into her pocket, she takes out her smokes and her phone as she sits back against the tank. There’s a text from Barret saying he’s locked the house for the night and reminding her not to be out too late. Another from Vincent asking when she’s coming back to school. She responds to Barret to let him know she’s alright and clicks out of her texts.

Tifa hovers over her web browser, apprehension gnawing in the pit of her stomach. Lucrecia’s words about reaching out to her online friend ring in her mind \- she wants so badly to talk to him again, but she’s been so afraid. What if he’s angry at her for waiting for so long? What if he’s forgotten about her already? What if… What if…

She shakes her head and types in the website she used to communicate with her distant friend; she can’t bother to re-download the app now. As the page loads, she lights her joint and takes a long drag while logging in. Her nails dig into her jeans as several messages from fenrir pop up, and her breath catches in her throat.

**f: hey. are you there?**

**f: what’re you sorry for? what happened?**

**f: hey, talk to me. why are you sorry? did something happen?**

**f: please get back online. talk to me. come back, please.**

Tifa can hear her breathing become shallower as she continues reading, and the words swim together. She can feel his urgency and pain in the messages, begging her to come back to him, begging her not to go through with her plan. He had to have figured out what she was up to by the last message - he knew so much more about her than anyone else did, including her terrible habit of hurting herself.

**come back, please.**

_Fenny…_

The first sob is muted, but her body still shakes. With trembling fingers, she scrolls further down and sees a longer message. The date is some time in the past two weeks and there is an audio attachment. She reads the message first.

**f: im not really sure how to start this. you know ive never been the best with words. ill just get right to it.**

**i** **miss you** **,** **locks** **. i wish… there was more i could do to help you. that sounds selfish now that i read it, but idk. youre the only person, besides my best friend irl, that ive felt this close to and talked this much with and told all this shit to. i appreciate that you trusted me so much with the stuff going on with you, and im sorry that i couldnt do more for you. i know that maybe im being… idk, hard on myself. thats what my friend says. but i cant help but feel like if i were with you… maybe i could have done more. and stopped you from… well, i know youll never see this. but it feels good to say it. theres a lot of stuff i didnt realize i wanted to say to you and now youre gone and i... sometimes i dont know what to do.** **im trying to move on and** **i guess** **this is helping but…** **fuck, im rambling.**

The screen becomes too unfocused; Tifa has to stop and wipe her tears away. She has to get through every word.

**i play your song almost every night. i cant get it out of my head, i cant get you out of my head. i bought you a charm bracelet and i still have it. i have no idea what to do with it. its too hard to throw away, and its too late to return it. so i just have it lying around. it has a chocobo and a moogle charm cause i remembered your stuffed animals and i figured youd like that.**

A gurgled chuckle escapes past her lips. He was always so thoughtful. He always paid attention, even to the little things she said.

**maybe ill keep it just as something… idk, something to remember you by. and i still have the bracelet you sent me. i wear it everyday and i probably will for a long time.**

**i wont forget you locks.** **ill be okay eventually, but i wont ever forget your friendship and what youve done for me over the past couple of years.** **you mean so much to me and i just wish you were still here. i wish i knew what happened, i wish whatever shitty thing happened didnt happen and you were still here and we still talked. i know we** **said we’d meet** **one day, maybe youd come to midgar after graduation and i could show you around. i know we can’t do that now but i want you to know that it would have meant** **a lot** **to me if we could.**

**i hope youre at peace now and no longer hurting. i hope i helped, even just a little bit. id give anything to talk to you again, maybe just once, and tell you more but… anyway, i** **played** **your song on my guitar. i dont sing as well as you but i just wanted… idk what i wanted.** **to be close to you again maybe, through this song.**

**goodnight locks. please sleep well.**

**your fenny, always.**

This sob is louder, ripping out of her so painfully she nearly drops the phone in her lap. Tifa hunches over and lets herself cry, the tension in her chest becoming overwhelming. It’s ugly and harsh, and she’s grateful she checked her messages out here where no one can hear or see her.

After several minutes, she clicks on the audio message. The strums from the guitar sound first, followed by his voice. Tifa wills herself quiet so she can hear as much as she can, sniffling through the song. She’s heard him sing before, and she always thought he had a pleasant voice, but to hear him playing her song makes the world around her feel heavy. His pitch wavers as if he was crying, and Tifa can feel his sadness in every note. She stares at the screen as it plays, wishing she could see him. It’s not until the last chorus comes up that her sobs become discordant again - it’s different from what she had written, and it makes the tightness in her chest even worse.

_“So meet me one day_

_We’ll have a starlit dance_

_I’ll give you your heart_

_And you’ll give me one more chance_

_To show you I love you_

_I hope you love me, too_

_To find peace in my arms,_

_Where I want to shelter you.”_

Every word lodges itself in her heart until she feels like it’ll explode. Tifa cradles her phone against her chest and weeps. She caused him so much suffering. What would he say if she suddenly came back? He might be happy, but he would worry about her all the time. Whether or not she’ll try again, whether or not she’s happy. If she doesn’t respond fast enough, he’d probably panic. He could never trust her again after something like this.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Fenny. I’m sorry.”

Tifa plays the song repeatedly, losing track of time. She draws her knees up to rest her forehead on her thighs and her tears soak her jeans. She severed her relationship with the one person in the world that she trusted with so much of herself. Tifa was so worried that he had forgotten about her, but it’s been months and he’s still not over her. And his admission… his last verse. She could have never imagined that she meant that much to him, that he felt like that about her. That he felt the same way she did.

How could she do this to him?

She wails when the song ends again after countless plays, her voice muffled by her pants, but this time she doesn’t restart it. Every gasping breath hurts, but Tifa can’t stop crying. She doesn’t calm down enough to think about the time until the moon is right above her; her phone tells her it’s after midnight.

Tifa squishes the joint she had long abandoned against the tank to make sure it’s snuffed out. One long, rattling breath after another, she quiets and gets her shaking under control so she can climb down the ladder. Tifa stuffs her phone in her pocket and rubs her arms as the coolness of the night hits her.

She decides not to message him back. He’s accepted her as gone, so to jump back into his life would disrupt any healing he’s experienced. She can’t do that to him.

As much as she doesn’t want to, Tifa knows she has to let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that no matter how many times I've read this chapter to edit it and such, the ending always made me cry? Cause uh... it does. Not really sure what that says....
> 
> :CryingCatEmoji:
> 
> As always, lemme know what you think! Wanna interact with (scream at) me on twitter? Find me [here!](https://twitter.com/queenkarmi)


	8. Locks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sometimes I look at the stars   
> and try to find all the lights   
> that forge my constellation   
> and when I can’t find mine   
> I look for yours."   
> \- WT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyyyy look, an update!!!
> 
> Finals are coming up, so I might go ghost for a while until the end of the year, but I'm glad I can get this update out now. I've also been having a hard time with writing lately, so sorry for any weird typos and such, I tried to proofread the best I could :D
> 
> When I originally wrote this chapter, I wasn't planning on using it for fall fest, but it actually worked out pretty perfectly!! So here's my entry for #CloTiFallFestival2020!
> 
> Day 5: Reunion

Cloud’s relief at the beginning of the week is short-lived; just as soon as he could expel one of his demons and heal from losing his friend, Rufus shows up to haunt him. Every night this week, he’s startled awake, sometimes more than once, fingers itching to pick up the phone and call his mother. As he lies awake, Cloud has to tell himself over and over that she’s fine - she’s at work, she’s asleep, she’s eating lunch - and there’s no reason for him to worry.

Saturday morning proves to be no different.

Cloud doesn’t bother to check the time as he stumbles out of bed and toward the bathroom. It’s still dark outside, but there is a hint of light on the horizon - probably somewhere around five in the morning. He splashes his face - no point in trying to go back to sleep. He has a few things that should keep him busy until his appointment later today, anyway.

In his closet, Cloud changes into clothes better suited for outdoor work before heading down into the garage. Mowing the lawn at this hour would only piss the neighbors off, so he works on the old car for a while. The engine needs the most help, and he’s finally getting somewhere with it. Cloud straps a forehead light on and presses the lift for the car before sliding underneath with some tools. He takes a few minutes to inspect it and mentally sort the tasks left to get it running again. A grease stained list from his toolbox reminds him of the parts and fluids he still needs to purchase. Maybe he’ll pick some of those up after physical therapy.

He’s under there for a while before he hears the garage door open. Cloud isn’t exactly sure how much time passes, but at least he’s made substantial progress on his repairs. The smell of cigarette smoke lingers as Cid moves through the room, mumbling under his breath, but he doesn’t seem to notice Cloud’s there. Cloud checks a few things off of his list before sliding from underneath the car.

“Shit!”

His uncle jumps, clutching his shirt over his heart, as Cloud lifts himself up. Once he recognizes his nephew, Cid growls and takes his cigarettes out of his breast pocket to examine them.

“What the hell were you doin’ under there?”

Cloud takes his forehead light off and tosses it onto the workbench, raising a brow.

“Fixing… the car?”

Cid curses; smoke curls out of his nostrils and toward the fluorescent lights. “I know that. I mean, why are you under there so damn early?”

Cloud washes his hands in the sink to remove excess oil. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d do something productive.”

“Well, that’s a first,” Cid mutters. Cloud glares at him but his uncle doesn’t notice; he’s already making his way to his office, muttering about damaging his precious cancer sticks.

It takes a supreme amount of effort for Cloud’s only response to be a deep breath and a clenched fist. Another moment passes before he uncurls his fingers and puts all of his things away. The sun is up now, so better to get started on the lawn than stay and fight with his uncle.

Before Cloud can make it to the end of the driveway, a man bolts out of one of the nearby houses and flags him down.

“Hey there! Cloud, right? I’m John, from across the street.”

Cloud looks the man up and down before reaching out and taking his hand. He’s seen him around before, and as much as he doesn’t care to learn the man’s name, Cloud knows it’ll stick with him.

“Yeah?”

John pauses with his mouth open, unsure of what to do with Cloud’s indifference, before regaining his composure. “Is your uncle in the garage?”

Cloud’s eyes narrow. “Yeah.”

“Thanks buddy.” John pats him on the shoulder before jogging inside; not too long after, his and Cid’s voices reverberate through the garage door.

It’s not until he’s at the gate of his uncle’s house that Cloud realizes he’d been muttering under his breath the entire walk there. He rolls his eyes; Cid’s rubbing off on him a little too much for Cloud’s liking.

The front door is unlocked, but Shera’s not there. A note on the kitchen counter thanks him for mowing the lawn and lets him know there’s breakfast for him in the oven. Cloud can’t help but smile at her thoughtfulness, grateful that at least one of his guardians is tolerable. He digs into the quiche she left for him, washes his dishes, and makes his way for the garage. Shera’s back from her errands by the time he’s done.

“Good morning, Cloud,” she greets as she sets a few grocery bags on the counter.

“Hey. Do you need help?”

“Oh no, this is all I got.” Shera spies the plate in the drying rack. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”

Cloud scratches his stomach. “It was pretty good. You’ll have to give mom that recipe.”

Shera laughs as she puts the eggs away. “I’ll do that. Do you need the car for your appointment?”

“Yeah. I might run some errands afterwards, too.”

She waves a hand in the air. “That’s fine. I can take Cid’s if I need to go anywhere else.” Before Cloud can leave, Shera gives him a peck on the cheek. “Hope your appointment goes well, dear.”

“Thanks, Aunt Shera.”

Cloud takes the keys and makes a stop at home to shower and change, careful to avoid his uncle, before heading to the hospital. Despite all of his chores, he’s still early, which gives him time to get lost on the way to the physical therapy wing. When he checks in, however, Cloud is happy to see they aren’t very behind, and he’s called in not too long after arriving.

* * *

“Alright, we’ll do one last exercise and then we can wrap it up here. Bend your arm slowly for me and make a fist.”

Cloud follows Doctor Valentine’s instructions, curling his arm and flexing his fingers in and out of a fist. There’s some discomfort, but he’s able to move around without difficulty. When the doctor asks if there’s any pain, Cloud describes the tingle he feels sometimes and the man nods.

“Very good. It seems like your fracture has healed nicely.” Dr. Valentine holds up an X-ray and points along the line in Cloud’s bone. “They set it well and you’ve been taking good care of yourself.” After putting the film down and removing his glasses, he turns back to Cloud. “But your primary concern is being able to throw competitively again?”

Cloud nods. “Yeah. I’ve tossed the ball around a few times in the past week, and my left arm just doesn’t feel… the same.”

The doctor hums as he considers Cloud’s words. Something about the way Dr. Valentine rubs his chin is familiar to Cloud, though he’s having a hard time recalling where he’s seen it before.

“That’s to be expected after an injury like yours. Your arm was nearly shattered from what I can tell from your medical record.”

Cloud massages his wrist as he lowers his arm into his lap. “Yeah…”

Dr. Valentine raises a brow. “I’m surprised you don’t have more pain than just some occasional tingling. Hopefully, we can do something about that and improve your range of motion to near 100%.” He inspects his clipboard for a moment, flipping back and forth between Cloud’s files, before writing something down. “Can you come back next Saturday?”

“Yeah, I’m free.”

“Good, very good.” More scribbling. “I’ll see you next Saturday then. I think… a few more weeks of therapy should get you back on track.”

Cloud hops off of the bed as Dr. Valentine makes a few more notes. “Thanks.”

He glances up from his clipboard with a smile. “No problem, my boy. Have a good week.”

It takes Cloud a second to reorient himself once he’s out of the room; a sign pointing toward the nurses’ station puts him on the right path. From there it should only be a left turn to the elevators, then…

“Hey.”

Cloud turns to see Vincent behind the station handing someone a file. The man thanks him and hurries off in the other direction. Vincent approaches Cloud.

“What’re you doing here?”

Vincent shrugs. “Just helping my dad. You?”

“Physical therapy.” Cloud flexes his arm for emphasis.

Vincent rubs his chin - that’s when Cloud remembers the motion. He laughs and only says, “Your dad does that too,” when Vincent gives him a quizzical look. Vincent huffs.

“Give me one second.”

Cloud leans against the desk, crossing his arms and watching Vincent jog down the hall to his father, who is emerging from the room where he treated Cloud. Their conversation floats to him as they get closer.

“Yes, I’m alright. Thanks for your help, son.”

“No problem.”

When they stop at the station, Dr. Valentine grins at Cloud.

“I should have asked if you knew my son. It doesn’t surprise me he’s gotten to know you.”

Cloud smirks. “Vincent was one of the first people to speak to me.”

Dr. Valentine chuckles. “Yes, well, I’m happy to see it. You two enjoy the rest of your day.”

Cloud follows Vincent down the hallway to the elevators (it was a right turn, not a left, but he would have gotten it the next time). When one appears, Vincent asks, “Hungry?”

At the mention of food, Cloud’s stomach growls. He must have worked off that quiche.

“What do you have in mind?”

“A diner that has great burgers.”

“Sounds good.”

They get off of the lift and Cloud leads him around the garage to his car. Vincent navigates once they’re out of the garage, but when he says the name of the place, Cloud makes a left turn with no further prompting.

“It’s near the animal shelter, right? I think I know how to get there from here.”

Vincent sits back with a smirk. “Oh? You’ve learned the town already?”

“I have a decent sense of direction once I get used to a place,” Cloud scoffs. “This town isn’t nearly as complex as Midgar.”

“You didn’t seem interested in Nibelheim before.”

“You sound like my aunt.”

“Maybe because it’s true.”

“Whatever.” Cloud shrugs. “Not practical for me to live here and not know my way around.”

“That’s a good point.”

The way to the diner isn’t complicated, only a straight shot past Vincent’s neighborhood. They pull into the parking lot a few minutes later and Vincent gives him a round of slow applause.

“Wow, we got here so quickly. You didn’t get lost once.”

“Fuck you,” Cloud laughs.

As he gets out, Cloud surveys the neighboring playground of the animal shelter. There are several people playing with the animals, some looking to adopt, but one that surprises him is Tifa. She’s sitting in a corner surrounded by dogs and cats. Her eyes are closed, but her mouth is open in a fit of laughter. His breath hitches as he watches her in stunned silence - he’s never seen her so jubilant. Even though she’s out in the open, something about seeing her like this feels like an invasion of her privacy, like he’s intruding on something sacred and not supposed to see this. Cloud remembers running into her here a few nights ago - she had been staring at the playground then and seemed so relaxed. In the back of his mind, he marks it as one of her safe places.

Vincent clears his throat, pulling Cloud’s attention back into the parking lot. “Don’t stare,” he says, but when Cloud glances at him, Vincent is watching the playground as well.

Cloud’s gaze drifts back to Tifa. There’s a reddish-brown cat she’s cuddling closer than the others, rubbing her nose against its face and giggling. From the way the cat closes its eyes, Cloud can almost hear its content purring.

“Come on.”

The sound of Vincent’s shoes crunching the gravel makes Cloud finally tear his eyes away from Tifa and the animals and follow Vincent into the diner. Retro decor litters the walls, with outdated furniture to match. Cloud has a hard time deciphering if this is the theme or if they just haven’t remodeled in half a century, but as long as the food is good, he doesn’t really care.

They go straight to a booth and a server comes to collect their drink orders \- water for both. Once she leaves, it’s quiet, save for the intermittent clanking of silverware at other tables. Vincent doesn’t offer to start the conversation, but his brow furrows not long after they sit down, and he’s rubbing his jaw - that indecisive, pensive look. Cloud gets the ball rolling.

“How long have you known Tifa?”

Vincent’s eyes snap up to Cloud’s, but instead of the hostility Cloud received the first time he asked about his relationship with Tifa, there’s worry and confusion. Vincent wasn’t expecting Cloud to ask this question \- though he was expecting _something_ \-  and it looks like he doesn’t know how to answer it. Did he expect Cloud to drop the subject after Vincent ignored his question in gym earlier in the week? Or perhaps Vincent realizes he can’t get out of answering like he did before.

“A couple of years. We didn’t really start talking until the past year or so.”

The waitress comes back with their waters and asks if they’re ready to order food yet. Vincent sighs.

“I’m sorry, can I get a black coffee too?”

“Sure hon.” She eyes Cloud, who shakes his head, and then she retreats behind the counter. Cloud turns back to his friend.

“Has she always been so closed off?”

Vincent waits until the server deposits his coffee before answering. “Not like this… no.” He grabs a stirrer from the corner of the table and dips it into the steaming cup. “She was never the type to gossip or share much about herself, but she’s never… been like this.” He tilts his chin in the direction behind Cloud. Cloud turns and in the window's corner, he can still see Tifa still playing with the animals. “That girl out there is the closest to her old self that I’ve seen in months.”

Cloud takes a moment to digest that information. Bright, energetic, _bubbly_ \- he hasn’t seen Tifa anywhere close to that since he moved here. Some part of him wondered if she was even capable, or if she was so burdened by her demons that it was too difficult to push past them. It’s nice to watch her in a place where she feels completely free and secure, where she can let her guard down. Cloud hopes that one day he can create that space for her - one day she will feel safe enough around him to laugh and be her true self.

As the thought becomes more prominent, to his alarm, Cloud’s ears burn. He turns back to Vincent and avoids his friend’s gaze. Vincent doesn’t seem to notice.

“Her accident must have been terrible.”

Vincent grips his cup so hard that a vein throbs on the top of his hand. He takes a generous sip of the coffee and rubs his cheek. “Yeah. You could say that.”

Cloud pauses as he reaches for his water. Something about Vincent’s words makes the atmosphere shift - things feel darker, heavier, and Cloud sucks in a breath. He wants to ask more about the accident, but he wonders if it’s his business. From the way he spoke, Vincent might find a way to avoid those questions, even though there’s nowhere for him to escape. Cloud redirects the conversation to something else.

“So you know each other through school?”

The vein disappears as Vincent’s hand relaxes around the mug. “I would volunteer to help with injuries at some sporting events, including swim meets. I always thought she was incredible.” Vincent takes another sip. “Then we started hooking up…”

Cloud’s glass clanks against the table, and he coughs on his water. Vincent raises a brow as the waitress comes back.

“Are you alright, hon?”

Cloud nods, patting his chest. Vincent orders his burger, monitoring Cloud all the while. Cloud points to the burger on the menu and she takes the hint.

“Are you sure?” Vincent asks when she goes back to the kitchen.

Cloud coughs one last time and steadies himself with a slow breath. “Yeah, I wasn’t… expecting you to say that.”

Vincent blinks at him. “It just slipped out.” He runs a hand through his hair with a wistful smile. “But, I trust you. Guess that’s why.”

Cloud’s face scrunches with confusion, but Vincent doesn’t elaborate, opting to look around the diner at anything but Cloud. The silence expands for a few minutes before Vincent speaks again.

“Thank you for what you did, by the way.”

“What?”

“On Tuesday. Making sure she was okay.”

Cloud taps the edge of his glass in thought. “She told you?”

Vincent doesn’t look at Cloud again yet, instead reaching for a sugar packet and stirring its contents into his mug. “I text her on Wednesday after she didn’t come to school. She didn’t give me all the details, but she told me you were there for her.” Finally, his gaze lifts. “Thank you for that.”

Cloud’s eyes widen in understanding. Before, Vincent wasn’t sure if he could trust Cloud with anything having to do with Tifa, which is why he wouldn’t really answer Cloud’s questions. Perhaps Cloud appeared nosy instead of concerned, which put Vincent on guard on Tifa’s behalf. Between the things he’s said and the way he’s reacted to inquiries about Tifa, Cloud can tell Vincent cares a lot about her; seeing how people treat her must be hard for him, and he doesn’t want to give someone else the ammunition they need to add to the pile.

But Cloud’s actions on Tuesday seem to have solidified Vincent’s trust in him. Of course, Vincent’s feelings about him were the last thing on his mind at the end of gym - all he wanted was to show Tifa she wasn’t alone, though Cloud still wonders sometimes why he cares so much about a girl he barely knows. Either way, he’ll take this added benefit. It definitely helps him understand the both of them better.

Cloud nods to himself. “So she’s your ex? That’s why you’re so protective of her?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I wouldn’t call her my ex. We weren’t dating and we never went too far.” He scratches his mug. “But I consider her my friend. She’s a good person. She doesn’t deserve the shit this town is throwing at her.”

There’s an edge to Vincent’s tone by the end of his sentence, but the server comes with their food before Cloud has time to think about it. Vincent uses the interruption to switch gears. 

“Physical therapy?”

Cloud picks at his food, a knot twisting in his stomach as he removes some toppings from his burger. “Yeah. I got into a nasty fight at the beginning of the summer.”

“Same fight that got you sent out here?”

“No. That was at the end of the summer. A friend and I were defending this girl being chased by some guys.” He chuckles. “That was on my birthday, too.”

Vincent whistles. “You’ve got a protective streak yourself.” Cloud huffs in amusement. “So your arm got broken in the first fight?”

“My dad smashed it with my bat.”

The friendly atmosphere between him and Vincent makes the words tumble out of his mouth with little thought \- now he gets how Vincent said what he said earlier. Vincent pauses in the middle of taking a bite of his sandwich. It’s suddenly too quiet around them, like everything in the diner has stopped along with Vincent. Cloud scratches the back of his neck, his rising paranoia making him speak if for no other reason than to have some noise.

“My entire life, my dad was a shithead. My mom and I got away from him about 3 years ago and things were finally good.” Cloud squeezes his shaking thigh. “One day, he passed by the park I was practicing in. We got in a fight. He crushed my arm. Wanted to make sure I could never pitch again.” A mirthless chuckle slips out of his mouth, though now that he’s through the story, it feels good to let that out. “I learned how to pitch with both arms because I was always afraid of… something like that happening.”

It takes Vincent a moment to recover and Cloud’s nerves fringe as he does. Soon the shock melts away from Vincent’s face, replaced with sympathy. “I’m sorry about that.”

Cloud shrugs, feigning indifference. “It’s…”

He’s about to say his usual, “It’s fine,” but when he meets his friend’s eyes, Cloud stops himself. Vincent’s concern makes Cloud reconsider his facade.

“Honestly, it was shit.”

“I can imagine. How did your mom react?”

Cloud sits back in the booth, forgetting about his food. “She freaked out. Took me to the hospital she works at and wouldn’t stop fretting over me until a month after my surgery. But I get it. Sometimes it annoyed me how much she fussed, but when I think about it… I know it scared the shit out of her. It’s pretty much only been my mom and I.”

“And the friend you got in trouble with?”

“Yeah. I met him in middle school. He came over and helped mom take care of me when he wasn’t working.” Cloud laughs again, but this time the sound is more genuine. “I probably make a friend every five years. I don’t do new people.”

At that, Vincent gives him a small smile. “I think this is going well enough.”

Cloud nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

They fall into a comfortable silence as they enjoy their food. After a few minutes, Cloud spots chipping paint behind Vincent and, remembering the hideous decor, starts to ask about it, but closes his mouth once he sees the snarl on Vincent’s face. When Cloud turns around to follow Vincent’s gaze out of the window, he understands why.

Rufus and his posse are in the parking lot surrounding Tifa; Cloud’s eyes widen as Rufus puts his arm around Tifa’s shoulders and leans in close to her. Her face contorts in anger but she’s visibly uncomfortably, trying to make herself as small as possible, wrapping her arms around her chest and turning her knees inward.

Cloud growls and rises from the table, but Vincent reaches across and grabs his wrist.

“Don’t.”

Cloud faces him, nostrils flaring. “Why not?”

Something akin to panic dances across Vincent’s face. Cloud can see it’s fighting with his urge to protect her.

It has to be Rufus. That’s the only person Cloud can imagine Vincent being afraid of in this town.

“It won’t end well if we get in the middle of it.”

He wants to be understanding of whatever position this could put Vincent in, but when Cloud looks outside again, his concern for Vincent dwindles. “Middle of what?” 

Rufus opens a car door, but Tifa shakes her head at his invitation.

“We can’t just sit here and let him fuck with her.”

Ripping his arm away, Cloud stomps from the table and out the door with Vincent shouting after him. As he crosses the lot, he can hear Rufus insisting on Tifa to join him for a ride.

“Rufus, just leave me alone, alright?”

“You haven’t spoken to me since you came back. Why is that, Tifa?”

The lackies notice Cloud first; Reno smirks as he turns to face Cloud, standing shoulder to shoulder with Rude to shield Rufus.

“Hey Spiky.”

At Reno’s greeting, Rufus peeks over his shoulder to see who approaches. Once he’s distracted, Tifa pushes him away from her and walks away. He stumbles against the car and glares at her.

“You—”

“I told you to leave me the fuck alone!” Her voice is shaking.

Cloud reaches for her, but she twists away. He can hear Vincent running up after him and calling her name.

“You need not get involved, Cloud,” Rufus threatens.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Rufus’s eyes flash at Cloud’s defiance, which only fuels Cloud’s anger more. “She said to leave her alone!”

“Please don’t—”

Cloud glances back at Tifa, who is struggling with Vincent. Only three of his fingers wrap around her wrist in a gentle grip, though it’s firm enough to keep her from going anywhere.

“Tifa, just come inside.”

“Stop, Vince, I don’t—”

“If you walk home, what’s stopping him from following you?”

Vincent’s words are so quiet, Cloud is sure the others don’t hear them. However, they’re powerful enough to make her pause. Fear floods through her face, so palpable it makes him wince, but she washes it away a second later. Before he knows it, she’s yanking the door open and marching inside.

“Vincent, I thought we had an agreement?”

Cloud turns back to face Rufus, whose smug visage has returned, though marred by an angry gaze. Vincent lines up next to Cloud. A simmering rage radiates off of him, a calm and lethal fury that is familiar to Cloud. It reminds him of the silent kids who keep to themselves and don’t show their anger until it’s too late for whoever they release it upon.

Kids like him.

“What does our agreement have to do with you harassing her?”

“I know you have a soft spot for Tifa, but I thought I’ve told you before that she’s _mine._ ”

Vincent snorts. “I don’t hear her saying that.”

Rufus’s eyes narrow. “You remember your precious doctor the next time you think about interfering with us.”

The bell for the diner chimes behind them.

“Y’all aren’t causing trouble out here, are you?”

The tension in the air is almost suffocating, but neither party moves until Rufus harrumphs and climbs into the backseat. Rude and Reno take the front and drive off.

“Fucker,” Vincent mumbles as they watch them peel away.

Cloud looks at his friend head-on, and the intensity in Vincent’s eyes scares him.

It reminds him too much of his own.

“Vincent—”

“We should go check on her.”

Vincent turns on his heel without another word and goes back inside. The server is still eying them as they walk to their table.

“Your friend is in the bathroom. She looked a little shaken up. Y’all okay?”

“We’re fine. Thank you.” Vincent rubs his face. “Can you bring another glass of water for her, please?”

“Sure thing, hon.”

Vincent slides back into the booth and Cloud follows suit, grimacing at his burger. By now it’s surely cold, and the crash from his adrenaline rush makes it unappetizing. He pushes it away and sips on his water instead, keeping his eyes on Vincent. His friend has reset his features to their usual neutrality, but now that Cloud has become more familiar with him, he can see the anger rolling underneath.

He decides now isn’t the time to ask about Vincent’s “agreement” with Rufus.

“Whatever Rufus has offered you, forget about it.”

Cloud stares at Vincent over his glass and takes another sip. Vincent considers his words for a moment before continuing.

“I know about your meeting with Rufus. I know he’s trying to rope you into something. Don’t do it.”

Cloud’s pocket burns, and for a moment he thinks the money Rufus gave him on Tuesday is still there.

“I’m already in enough shit.”

“Even if you weren’t. Nothing good can come out of working with them.”

“Is that why—”

The sound of a slamming door makes them both look up. Tifa emerges from the back and freezes as she meets their eyes. Her teeth gnaw on her lower lip, her hands fidgeting together in front of her, and Cloud can see the gears turning in her head as she weighs her options to join them or just leave. After a few seconds, Tifa unglues herself from the floor and approaches their table.

“Thank you for that,” she breathes, glancing at Cloud. “Sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay. They upset you.” Cloud keeps his tone even. He’s still furious, but it’s not her fault. He won’t take it out on her.

Vincent slides over. “Sit with us.”

She shakes her head. “No, I… Thank you for convincing me to stay here, but I just need to be… I need to be alone.”

Her hesitancy makes Cloud wonder if that’s what she really wants or if her sense of self-preservation is taking over, but he doesn’t insist. With Tifa, he’s learned that respecting her wishes goes a long way, and her face softens when neither of them press it.

“Take the time you need. We’ll stick around.” When her eyes widen Cloud adds, “I can drop you off at home later. It’s not a problem.”

Cloud thinks she’s going to reject his offer, as that always seems to be her first reaction, but her sigh of relief lets him know she’ll think about it. “Thanks again,” she mumbles before walking to the other side of the restaurant and sitting at a table. 

Cloud watches the waitress ask for her order. Tifa waves, showing she doesn’t want anything, and after the server leaves her water, Tifa rests her head between her arms on top of the table. He finds it hard to take his eyes off of her, afraid that if he stops watching her, she’ll disappear or she’ll be in trouble again. She seems capable enough of defending herself as far as he can tell, but he knows what it feels like to stick up for yourself in the moment and feel cold and alone afterwards. Maybe that’s what he wants to help her with \- not so much saving her from others, but from that loneliness he’s known for too long.

Vincent’s plates scrapes against the table, drawing Cloud back to their booth. He grimaces at the noise. Neither of them finish their food nor do they talk about what just happened, falling into silence with intermittent idle chatter. Cloud knows that Vincent’s focus is on Tifa behind him, and for Cloud it’s the same.

An hour later, Tifa gets up with her water and comes back to their table. Vincent tilts his head toward the booth and she nods, so he makes room for her.

“Better?”

Tifa keeps her arms crossed and her eyes on the table’s surface. “A little.” Glancing between the two of them, she says, “You really didn’t have to.”

Cloud’s anger flashes; his grip tightens around his cup. There’s no way he’d leave her in a situation like that.

“They were being assholes.”

Tifa’s head snaps up, her mouth hanging open. Cloud must have shocked the words right out of her, and he can only think how much of a shame it is that she’s so used to people leaving her out to dry.

“Well, Rufus… he’s just…”

At the sound of her possibly downplaying what he did, Cloud’s irritation gets the better of him.

“He’s a spoiled fucking brat.”

This time when Tifa tries to respond, a snort comes out. She covers her mouth, but Vincent’s chuckling makes her giggle. Soon, the three of them are quietly laughing together, something Cloud hasn’t experienced in a long time. It makes him nostalgic for home, for Zack, but this is nice in its own way.

“Really. Thank you both,” Tifa says once she relaxes.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t want anything to eat?” Vincent asks.

Tifa picks up a menu and considers it for a moment. “I think I’ll eat my leftovers at home,” she muses, putting it back.

They pay for their food and leave. Tifa climbs into the backseat while Vincent takes the passenger.

“Do you know how to get to Vincent’s house? I don’t live far from there.”

“Yeah.”

They don’t speak for much of the ride except for Tifa’s directions. Once there, she leans forward and in-between the front seats.

“Thanks for bringing me home.”

“Tifa, you don’t have to thank me so much.”

Tifa blinks. “Well… okay. I still appreciate it.” She slides out of the car and gives them a small wave before walking up to her front door.

Vincent chews on the inside of his cheek before speaking. “I’ll get out, too, since I live down the street. See you at school.”

At the sound of the car door opening again, Tifa turns around and watches Vincent get out. He doesn’t approach her, though as Cloud drives off, he hears Vincent asking her if she’s okay. Her answer must satisfy him, because through his rearview mirror, Cloud sees Vincent walking home in the other direction.

Now that he’s alone, his thoughts race. Cloud already knows that Rufus thinks he owns this place, but his possessiveness over Tifa, threats to Vincent, even the veiled warnings to himself makes Cloud wonder once more about the extent of Rufus’s power. Does his father know his son is this controlling - does Mr. Shinra facilitate it? Rufus can’t get all of this information to blackmail people on his own, and he mentioned his father at the beginning of the week. Perhaps Rufus just takes after his old man.

The thought makes Cloud shudder.

His mind is still buzzing by the time he drops off Shera’s car and walks home. There’s no one in the garage, but Cloud can hear people talking, so he assumes Cid has a customer. Cloud needs something to do with his hands, so he busies himself with the old car. The mechanical work should help clear his head, though as he picks up a wrench, Cloud realizes he was so preoccupied that he forgot to get the supplies off of his list on the way home. He sighs. He can get them later.

After a few minutes, the door to the building opens.

“Lemme know if you have any more trouble!”

“Thanks Cid, really appreciate you taking me at the last minute.”

Cloud looks up from the hood of the car as Cid and the man from this morning - John - emerge. A cigarette hangs out of the corner of Cid’s huge grin.

“No problem. Just make sure you take care of her!”

John waves to them both before he gets into his car and backs out of the garage. Cid removes his cigarette and blows out a column of smoke before turning to Cloud.

“I thought your appointment was over hours ago. You ain’t gettin’ into anything, are you?”

Cloud’s already splintered nerves flame the irritation that spreads through him. His grip around the tool hardens to the point of pain, but he ignores that, focusing on the fury that bubbles up instead. That’s always it, every fucking time - he’s always in trouble or stirring shit up. At least Shera assumed he was just being a normal kid the other day, but his uncle never gives him that benefit of the doubt.

Cloud wrestles with a bolt, clenching his jaw as he tries to calm himself and concentrate on the job before him.

“You know, I could just be making friends.”

Cid snorts. “Well, wouldn’t that be a change. All I ever heard about you was you getting into some shit, so it’s only safe for me to assume—”

This time, Cloud can’t rein it in.

“If you gave a shit, maybe you’d know more about me.”

Stillness settles over the garage. Cloud glares at his uncle, the wrench shaking in his hand, before he turns back and continues to fasten the bolt. Cid only stares back, dumbstruck. The only sign of Cid’s recovery is the growl that emanates from the back of his uncle’s throat.

“What the hell makes you think we didn’t care?”

Cloud stands up straight, his eyes wide in astonishment. “I don’t know, Cid. Maybe the fact that I never saw you? I barely know you, barely heard from you, even when Paul was beating the shit out of your sister?”

Cid throws the cigarette into the ashtray and stomps up to Cloud until he’s staring he’s straight down into his nephew’s face. Cloud doesn’t move, only letting out a loud exhale through his nose.

“Don’t you dare.” Cid’s voice is low and would be threatening if Cloud gave a shit, but he’s too pissed off.

“Dare what? Tell you the truth?”

“Assume I didn’t care about Claudia. Or you.”

Cloud scoffs, bending into the hood of the car again. “Sure had a way of showing it.”

Cid stands over him for a minute longer before muttering a string of profanities and exiting the garage. The door tumbles down after him, and it’s quiet again.

Cloud keeps working on the car, but he’s no longer in the mood. The wrench makes a satisfying clang against the ground once Cloud throws it down and runs both hands through his hair with a loud sigh. That’s how it’s always been - everyone jumps straight to “Cloud must be doing something he shouldn’t.” People don’t make a habit out of getting his side. They didn’t care that he had a shitty father at home who was using his size to bully him and his mom. They didn’t care that he was almost always defending someone or sticking up for himself. That didn’t matter - Cloud Strife was a troublemaker, and that stuck. His uncle knows nothing about him except that, and he hates it.

He also hates that he let his jitters from what happened at the diner get the better of him. Fighting with his uncle was the last thing he wanted today, but being accused of getting in trouble _again_ , when he was the one trying to prevent trouble from happening, is one of the quickest ways to send him over the edge.

Even after a long shower, Cloud still has difficulty clearing his jumbled mind. Smoking and playing on his guitar don’t get him very far either. Cloud sits on his bed with his head tossed back against the wall and takes a deep breath. Maybe going for another walk will help him. Having that time alone and spending his energy seems to do the trick more often than not these days. 

Once he unwinds, he’s better able to take in the surrounding sights, and Cloud finds this little town charming in its own way. Without his worries or the people to distract him, he can appreciate all the different colors of the leaves as the seasons change, how crisp the air is, the incredible backdrop of the mountains. He’d never admit it out loud, but Midgar couldn’t dream to compare to the natural beauty of Mount Nibel. If he could just find a path up there to get a closer look…

As Cloud nears the edge of town, he thinks about the wooded path he’d seen the other night during his one of his treks. He didn’t have time to explore it before, but perhaps this will be the one that takes him to the mountain. Cloud opens the flashlight on his phone, careful to push away any low-hanging branches. Even though this path is overgrown, it seems like someone still uses it with regularity. Cloud finds it easy enough to follow with his flashlight.

A few minutes pass by before he hears something and stills.

_“…lights… starry night…”_

It’s faint, but he swears someone is singing. Cloud moves further in and the words become clearer.

_“I see lights when I close my eyes…”_

His heart thumps - that can’t be right. Those lyrics… they have to be another song.

_“So ask me one day… We’ll have a starlit dance…”_

His blood runs cold and his heart constricts, making it difficult to breathe. He doubles over, catching himself on a nearby tree to stay on his feet. He feels like someone knocked the wind out of him. All this time… all this time…

_“You’ll give me one more chance…”_

Cloud stays where he is for what feels like hours, staring ahead into nothing. He can’t distinguish the trees from one another anymore; they’re all just inkblots running together now. He closes his eyes and gulps so hard he gasps, but it’s enough to help him focus. Cloud opens his eyes and stumbles forward a step, then another.

_Please. Please._

_“Cause I feel like you’re out there… Gazing at the sky…”_

The trees become a blur in his periphery as he races for the end of the path. A few branches nick at his face and arms, but he doesn’t feel them. 

_She’s—_

The path opens up into a clearing, and her voice rings in his ears. It’s so much better in person, more beautiful than he’s imagined in his dreams, and she doesn’t stop; she hasn’t noticed him. His blood pounds in his head, but he stops at the end of the path to listen. She’s sitting on the other side of an old water tower, so he can only see her legs swinging over the side.

_“I know I’ll love you too_

_I’ll find peace in your arms_

_And safe shelter with you.”_

Cloud’s eyes sting and he wipes them with his forearm. She listened to his song - she read his letter.

She’s _alive._

_Locks._

His chest tightens as his body moves forward of its own accord. For weeks - for _months_ \- Cloud has felt lost without his friend. They always talked about gazing at the stars together when they finally met, but ever since she disappeared, he hasn’t been able to look at them the same way. He’s spent too many nights searching for her in every constellation, hoping that one day he would find her.

Now he has. All this time, they’ve been so close.

Cloud feels too many things at once, too many conflicting thoughts - he wants to meet her, and he knows from their conversations she wanted to meet him, but is that different now? He’s afraid to finally see who she is after all this time. There was something safe about the anonymity of being online and never knowing what the other looked like. Cloud knows that was a large part of the reason she trusted him so much - he didn’t know who she was, so he couldn’t hurt her with the things she told him. Would she trust him now? Would she even want to be friends? What happened to her?

He’s dizzy as he climbs the ladder, but despite his anxiety, Cloud can’t stop.

He's at the top before he knows it.

_Locks…_

His eyes latch onto Tifa, and everything clicks into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been WAITING for this moment - hope you all have toooo!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading, please stay tuned!!


	9. Determination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud struggles with a decision. Tifa returns to school, determined to make this one stick.
> 
> Also, They Are Dorks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone. Thanks for sticking with me on this journey so far. May this fic continue to bring you whatever it is you seek from it in the new year.
> 
> TW//  
> recreational drug use (cannabis)  
> referenced/implied sexual assault  
> referenced self-harm  
> panic attack
> 
> (I promise this chapter is mostly feel good)

Locks’ last goodbye. Tifa’s “accident.”

Lock’s scars. Tifa’s long sleeves.

Her eyes widen as she recognizes him and she hurries to put her cardigan on. The movement makes Cloud’s gaze dart to her arms, where he glimpses the white lines that glow against her pale skin. His heart twists, sucking the air out of his lungs.

_Of course._

It’s as if two people are sitting in front of him. The faceless shadow of his close friend calls to him, and Cloud steps forward.

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice - _Tifa’s_ voice - pulls him out of his reverie and only one person remains - the terrified girl he’s gotten to know over the past few weeks. Her entire body is rigid as she waits for an answer, hawkish eyes watching every move he makes.

The million things he could say - should say, wants to say - struggle against the lump in his throat. Cloud’s stuck between revealing himself to her and keeping things as they are now between them. How does he come clean? Gods, what would she even _say_?

The joint between her fingers twitches, smoke curling into the air. Cloud coughs, deciding he has to at least respond. He goes with the first thing that comes to mind: simple truth.

“I was on a walk. I heard singing.”

Her teeth sink into her lower lip - bad sign. She’s only getting more anxious. One of her legs draws up and onto the platform as if she’s going to stand - she’s going to flee. He’s shattered her sense of safety in this isolated place.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Tifa turns back to him, her features softening, though the rest of her remains taut. “I didn’t know it was you. But I heard the song and…”

Cloud digs his nails into his fist to steady himself.

“It was beautiful.”

Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears and color blooms across her cheeks. Tifa sniffs and wipes her face with her sleeve, unable to look at him anymore.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

She doesn’t move to get up. The pressure releases from his chest, but he stays where he is for fear of startling her further. He should leave - _Cloud_ should leave Tifa alone.

But Fenrir begs to stay and be with Locks again.

“Can I sit with you?”

Tifa doesn’t answer right away, still chewing on her lip in contemplation. A few heartbeats pass between them before she finally nods.

Once he sits down, she mumbles, “I don’t get you.”

Cloud leans his head back against the water tower with a sigh. “What’s there to get?”

Her clothes rustle. When he glances at her in his periphery, Tifa’s drawing both of her knees to her chest.

“You barely know me, but you’re always trying to help.” Her voice grows quieter when she adds, “I don’t understand why you care.”

Her tone implies the rest: _when no one else does_. Cloud closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath. _I’ve always cared_ is what he wants to shout, but the words turn to ash in his mouth. He’s on the edge of a chasm and he’s afraid of stepping over because he doesn’t know if he’ll fall or fly. _Fenrir_ is screaming at him to call her by the name he’s known for three years, but _Cloud_ , in knowing Tifa and Locks, doesn’t believe telling her now is right. Perhaps because she’s already dealing with the fact that he’s discovered her sacred place and she’s vulnerable. Considering how high Tifa keeps her guard, saying those words might just freak her out.

He opts again for a simpler, incomplete truth.

“I already told you - I relate.” Cloud opens his eyes and leans forward so he can see her better. “I understand feeling like you don’t have anyone.”

He pauses, unsure of what to say next, then decides it’s best to let her make the next move. Tifa doesn’t respond right away; her joint at her lips, she takes a long drag before resting her chin on her knees and letting smoke drift out of her mouth and nose.

As the silence extends, Cloud takes in the rest of the area. It’s mostly overgrown brush; the water tower is the only thing of note for several yards all around, and it’s definitely seen better days. There are lights around the top of the structure, glowing just enough that they can see each other. The platform is stable but creaky, complaining at every move they make. It’s not completely uncomfortable, though - not when he focuses on the sky, and the world around him shrinks.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the vastness of space out here. They sit facing away from town, so the only backdrop to the millions of light pricks is Mt. Nibel. Cloud forgets about the rickety wood and how his arms sting from the nicks of low-hanging branches - for a moment, all that exists is them and this glittering void.

Somehow, getting sucked into the night sky makes him more aware of Tifa’s presence and how close she actually is. Maybe he should scoot away and give her more space. He doesn’t want to crowd her—

“—smoke?”

Cloud blinks. Tifa comes into focus, her arms still wrapped around her knees, but now she’s facing him. How long has she been staring at him and he’s been daydreaming like an idiot? Her shoulders droop, and his heart swells to know she’s relaxing, though there’s confusion and hesitation in her eyes. Her mouth is slightly open, like she just said something.

“Wh-what?”

Tifa rolls her eyes, an indignant noise slipping past her lips. He’s about to apologize for not listening when her arm extends into the space between them, index and middle finger pointing the joint in his direction. Her sleeve stretches up her arm, revealing the beginning of one of her many scars.

Cloud gulps as he takes the cigarette. He’s familiar with the marks she’s left all over herself; not in a physical sense, not that he’s seen them outside of the glimpse he got tonight, but he knows better than anyone why she wears such long sleeves even when it’s warm. Some scars are a few years old, some date to before they even started talking, and some are as recent as…

Cloud lifts the joint to his lips and savors the taste, filling his lungs with smoke and drowning out his thoughts. He will not dwell on that for the time being.

“What happened to your face?”

His brow furrows as he blows out of his nostrils. “What’s wrong with my face?”

Tifa chews on the corner of her mouth, but it tugs upward just the slightest bit. Cloud smiles a little.

“There’s a cut. And on your arms, too.”

Her words bring the prickling back to the forefront of his mind. Cloud fights back a wince. “Oh. I fell on my way here…”

“Ah.” Crickets fill the silence. “They don’t look bad. But…” Tifa’s nose scrunches in thought before she pulls her bag from behind her and digs through it. “I have some sanitary wipes.” She glances up at him over her bag and Cloud has to will himself not to stare at the stars twinkling in her eyes. “If… you want.”

He has a hard time hearing her over his thundering heart, but another puff of the cigarette dulls the noise. “I’ll trade you.”

The packet appears in her hand and she puts the bag away. Cloud offers the cigarette first, which she takes and exchanges the wipes using her other hand. When he peels the wrapper back and pulls a napkin out, Tifa points to her forehead. Cloud cleans the spot she shows him, a red smear appearing on the wipe when he brings his hand back down. He sighs as he pulls another out for his arms, returning the rest to Tifa. She goes back to stargazing as he tidies up.

“Something told me you smoked,” she comments as he finishes. Her voice is quiet and even - not a jab, just an observation.

“Yeah?”

Tifa opens her mouth, then closes it as she searches for the right words. “You have… a thing about authority.”

Cloud can’t help the chuckle that escapes him. Her brows raise.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, just, you’re right. What made you guess?”

“The piercings, for one.” She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “The way you and Cid talk to each other. The… Rufus thing today.”

Her voice falls on the last sentence. She takes a deep breath before speaking again, playing with her hair and staring into the sky with a wistful look.

“When you say you relate…”

Cloud turns to her, his eyes resting on her exposed tattoo - which, along with so much else, has taken on new meaning for him tonight. Out in this secluded area, away from all of one’s fears, it’s so easy to get lost in the sea of stars. Perhaps that’s why they mean so much to her - why they’ve always meant so much to her. At least out here, she can be herself and not worry about what others are saying about her, what others will do to her. Out here, it’s just her and all the tiny lights that make up the universe.

“Can you tell me… how?”

Cloud chews on the inside of his cheek, giving himself time to choose his words carefully. Locks _knows_ how… but Tifa doesn’t realize it. Her song tells him she read his message, but he’s not sure if she’s sent anything back - he deleted the app after sending his last letter.

Over the past couple of weeks, Cloud has gotten used to Tifa being a stranger and starting a friendship with her from the ground up. Now that he’s aware she isn’t just some random girl he goes to school with, it dawns on him just how _much_ he knows about her, and that thought unsettles him.

He can’t imagine how it would shake her.

He should gain her trust more as Cloud before dropping that bomb on her and forever changing the landscape of their fragile relationship. It would be easier to convey once he’s had some time to sit on it, and springing it on her here wouldn’t be fair.

His fingers drum on the wood next to him as he chooses his words. “I’m used to being an outcast, too. Being looked at differently. Teased.” He laughs again. “Unfortunately, I pick fights.”

“Is that why—” Tifa stops, drawing her knees closer.

“Why what?”

She inhales, holds it, lets it go. “I don’t like rumors,” she breathes. “But I heard some kids talking about… about you having a record. Is that why… you got sent out here?”

Cloud hums. “Got into a fight trying to defend someone.” He leans back on one hand, scratching the back of his head with the other. “I get into a lot of trouble doing that, now that I think about it. Guess that’s why I want to be your friend.”

Tifa blinks at him, mouth open. “Wh-what?”

“You’ve asked me why I care.” His gaze meets hers again. “I… feel the need to help, I guess. That pretty much sums it up.”

This silence is warm, comfortable as some understanding stretches between them.

“I’m sorry.”

Cloud’s eyes soften at her tone. “For what?”

“Being bitchy at school. And when you first got here tonight. You startled me.”

Cloud shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. This is… somewhere safe for you, right?” When she nods, he adds, “And now I won’t leave…”

A soft laugh escapes her lips and Tifa allows herself to smile this time. “It’s okay. You seem alright. It’s just that… I have a hard time trusting people. But you’re so genuine. So you can stay… over there, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Tifa rests her chin on her knees again, drawing circles on the platform. “At school I push you away because I don’t want people to have even more reason to talk about you. I know you know by now but…” She bites her lip, pain staining her features for a moment before she erases it. “People talk about me. And I just don’t want them to talk about you because of me. I figure you get enough crap as is, being new and with your record.”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. “I don’t give a shit about that.”

Her eyes dart up to meet his. “Cloud, it’s better—”

“No.”

The thought of Tifa feeling so isolated by her peers that she purposefully cuts herself off from any semblance of friendship for the sake of others… 

It infuriates him. He’s not going to let these assholes beat her down anymore.

Cloud clenches his fist to keep his frustration out of his voice. “Don’t worry about me. About trying to protect me, okay? I don’t give a shit what they say about me… or about you.”

Tifa’s eyes shine in the moonlight. He thinks she’s going to keep protesting, but her face shows so many emotions before she can answer - fear, not of him, but perhaps of the others, of what they’ll say or do if they see them together at school; sadness, a deep melancholy that makes his heart ache; but finally, something he hasn’t seen on her face before:

Hope.

Cloud doesn’t dare breathe. Time stops, letting him sear that look on her face into his mind. When he takes his next breath, every Tears surface again, but she wipes her face before they can fall.

“Thank you.”

Cloud lets go of the breath he’d been holding, though the knife twists in his heart. The thought of wanting to see that in her eyes all the time, of wanting to be the reason she has hope for the future simmers in his brain. He holds on to the way it feels, a silent vow to be that for her no matter what.

“No problem. If you don’t want to be friends cause you think I’m a dick, that’s okay. I get it.” Tifa giggles and he smiles. “I’ll still tutor you. But I don’t want what other kids might say about me to be the reason. I don’t care.”

Tifa nods. “Okay.”

Silence settles between them once more and Cloud relaxes. He appreciates her looking out for him, but he doesn’t want that. He never did. Now knowing who she is, he can’t stand the thought of being distant anymore. He wants to get to know her again.

“On Monday, when I come back, can you…” She fiddles with her sleeves. “Do you want to eat lunch with me?”

“Yeah, Tifa. Sure.”

“Okay. I eat near the parking lot, away from everyone.”

“That’s fine.”

“And… could you not… Please don’t tell anyone about the scars,” she whispers.

The pain in her voice makes the crack in his heart expand. Of course he wouldn’t tell, he’d never do that… but it’s not about him. Just like with her panic attack, she expects him to gossip because that’s all she’s experienced from the other students.

He’ll be damned if he doesn’t change that expectation.

“I won’t, Tifa. I swear. And if you ever want to talk, you can with me.”

She glances at him, then focuses on the sky again. “Thank you, Cloud.”

They stay out there for a few more hours, only exchanging words every once in a while, but for Cloud, it’s enough to just be with her.

* * *

When Tifa returns to school, things already feel different. People still stare and point; whispers about her sudden absence float to her over the noise, but they don’t sting as much as they did last week. Perhaps it was the two extra sessions she had with Lucrecia - trying to internalize the things she’s learning in therapy has been a lot of work the past few days, but there’s a new resolve that flickers deep in her spirit. Between Lucrecia, then Vincent and Cloud standing up for her, and Cloud’s encouragement at the water tower, Tifa finds herself actually wondering what the future will bring instead of dreading it. Friends, _real_ friends, could be a possibility now. Her heart skips a beat just thinking about it. The determination to push past her insecurities grew stronger over the weekend. When she woke up this morning, the first thing she felt wasn’t fear.

It was an optimism she hasn’t experienced in a long time. Tifa wants nothing more than to cultivate that feeling and nourish it - to return to the days where she smiled and laughed and looked to the horizon. It’s been years since she’s been truly happy; that feeling died with her mother. But maybe one day she can discover what that’s like again.

She’ll never get there if she gives up.

Tifa pulls on her resolve, using it as a shield to block out the people talking about her as she approaches her locker. When she’s done, she closes the metal door with ease and takes a deep breath. The walk to science class isn’t long and the sight of Mr. Hojo standing at the front of the room, while still stomach churning, isn’t as nauseating as it had been last week. He scowls while Tifa finds her seat, doing her best to ignore the look he gives her. He hates when people miss his class.

Yuffie trots into the room not a minute later, settling in her own chair behind Tifa.

“Morning!”

She’s all smiles again; the bitterness from their disagreement last week is no longer there. Tifa wonders what made Yuffie change - or perhaps the girl doesn’t hold on to things the way Tifa does.

“Hi, Yuffie.”

Tifa glances at the clock. There’s a minute left before class starts. Even if Yuffie isn’t holding a grudge against her, she wants to clear the air.

“Listen, about last week…”

Yuffie shakes her head. “I have a problem with getting too excited. Sorry about that.”

Tifa starts. “Well, it’s not just that—”

“And I said that thing about you and swim team, and I can totally see how you took it the wrong way. I really should choose my words better.”

“Yuffie—”

“So, I hope we can start over?”

The way Yuffie speaks is dizzying. Tifa blinks to clear her head and replay the conversation, smiling back at Yuffie when she finally comprehends everything.

“Yes. Let’s start over.”

Yuffie’s grin takes over half her face as she pulls her books out. Tifa faces the front as the bell rings, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her face from mirroring Yuffie’s. When Rufus enters the room, however, her smile flips along with her stomach.

He locks eyes with her immediately, watching her until he finds his seat. Hojo doesn’t say anything about Rufus being late, but he’d never dare. No one would. Instead, he snaps on a student for nodding off while Rufus continues to stare at Tifa.

Even once she finally rips her gaze away from Rufus, a shiver runs through her that threatens the low flame of her determination burning within. She has to focus on something else, anything else - Hojo flips to the next slide and Tifa picks up her pen. The challenge of keeping up with Hojo proves a worthy distraction. Halfway through class, she glances in Rufus’s direction and he isn’t paying her any attention. Her shoulders relax, her hands scanning over the pages a little faster as her focus clears.

When the bell releases them, Yuffie taps the back of her chair. Tifa looks at her out of the corner of her eye while she puts her things away.

“You wanna hang out this weekend? I don’t have to work on Saturday.” When Tifa hesitates, Yuffie fumbles. “If I’m jumping the gun, just let me know!”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Tifa stands up with her backpack and Yuffie gets up with her. “I just need to think about it. And make sure I’m not babysitting.”

“Of course. Can I get your number?”

“Sure.”

They stop in the hallway and take out their phones, but Tifa pauses when Rufus steps out and hones in on her again. Alarm bells ring in her ears, drowning out all other sounds just long enough to make her breath catch and hands shake. She tears her eyes away from Rufus long enough to focus on Yuffie.

“I just gotta text my dad first,” Yuffie’s saying.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I actually need to be at my next class early. Can you get it from Vincent?”

Yuffie looks up with wide eyes. “Oh. Yeah.”

Tifa apologizes again before turning on her heel. When she slams into the door for the stairwell, she nearly knocks another student on his ass, but she can’t hear his protests over her thundering heart.

_Go away go away go away._

Rufus could have his pick of girls at this school, hell, probably women in this town; she’ll never understand why he wants _her_. And why he won’t take no for an answer.

_Rufus Shinra gets what he wants._

Tifa shakes her head. She will not give him what he wants this time. She won’t just give anyone anything of herself anymore.

The flame quivers, glowing a little brighter.

Shera’s classroom is in sight now. She takes a deep breath. Everything is fine.

Down the hall, Cloud dances around a girl Tifa recognizes from gym class. Something about the sight makes her want to laugh - the way his shoulders hunch and his cheeks turns red…

Is this tough guy nervous with girls?

The scene is almost enough to make her forget about Rufus and his stupid, smug grin. The corner of her mouth tugs upward—

Until Cloud spots her, and she stops in her tracks.

He pauses too, only a few feet down the hall, a soft look in his eyes and the hint of a smile.Tifa isn’t sure what it is, but she always feels like he’s looking right through her. Not because she’s invisible; rather, it’s like all of her secrets are laid out for him to sort through. When he looks at her like this, part of her wants to turn tail and flee - the idea of someone knowing her most intimate thoughts and experiences haunts her, because they could turn those things against her.

However, it’s almost… a relief. A relief that someone wants to look through the bullshit and not only see her, but _accept_ her. All her trauma, all her scars - Cloud got a glimpse of that this weekend and it only made him more determined to stick by her side. He didn’t gawk or seem repulsed, though she didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes when he recognized her at the top of the ladder. As much as she hates when others pity her, she’ll take that over their revulsion.

Cloud raises his hand to wave, but his gaze shifts past her and his eyes narrow. Tifa goes rigid as she remembers why she’d rushed to her math class. She’d been hoping he hadn’t followed her up the stairs, refusing to look back in case she saw him and froze. The very idea of Rufus being right behind her makes the alarm bells sound again, but her body doesn’t heed the warning; her feet stick to the ground. Her throat closes up. The lights in the hallway are too bright—

“Tifa. Hey.”

She was expecting a different voice, but this one comforts her. Cloud leans against the lockers right in front of her, arms crossed, giving her his undivided attention. Tifa licks her lips to dampen the sandpaper in her mouth. That doesn’t do much.

“So, I’m tutoring you this afternoon, right?”

He glances up again, then back down to her with earnest. Tifa nods.

A deep _hmph_ cuts through the noise in the hallway as a tall blonde strolls past them. Tifa stares after Rufus just long enough for him to disappear amongst the other students; her focus goes back to Cloud, who’s searching her face with worry.

“You okay? Was he messing with you?”

Now that the imminent threat of Rufus is gone, Tifa realizes how close Cloud is so she can hear him over the others. How’d she miss how _blue_ his eyes are? Even during tutoring sessions, Tifa never really noticed - she spent more time looking at her notes than making eye contact. Or maybe it’s the way they’ve darkened with simmering anger.

Something about Cloud being angry on her behalf makes her face grow warm.

“Tifa?”

“Yes?” She blinks. What was he asking her again?

The bell chimes. Cloud curses, reaching for her hand. “C’mon.”

Tifa doesn’t flinch when his fingers curl around hers - she short circuits. She’d be stuck again if he wasn’t tugging her along. She didn’t expect him to get so familiar so quickly. Between her near panic with Rufus, Yuffie turning the other cheek, and now this, Tifa isn’t sure she can handle whatever the rest of the day has in store for her.

Cloud holds the door to Shera’s classroom open and they both slip inside before the bell stops ringing. Shera says nothing, but her raised brow makes Tifa remember her hand. She pulls away from his hold, shuffling past him to her seat as other students get settled. Some glance their way as Shera starts her lesson. Tifa all but collapses into her desk, once again silently thanking Shera for putting her in the back and away from everyone’s stares.

Everyone’s but Cloud’s.

He busies himself with his things, but after a few minutes, Tifa realizes he’s not taking notes. When she looks up, she catches him gazing at her out of the corner of his eye. Cloud starts, his desk shifting as he goes rigid. The noise makes Shera pause in her lecture to glare at him. Tifa lifts her hand to her mouth to keep in a snort - Shera rarely glares at anyone but her husband, so to see it in class, directed at Cloud no less, it reminds Tifa of just how similar Cloud and Cid are.

She makes a mental note to never say that out loud to either of them. Something tells her they’d hate it.

“Hey.”

Cloud tilts in her direction, eyes still forward. Tifa glances at Shera to make sure she’s not paying them any close attention before leaning toward him.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry about earlier.”

Tifa turns to him. “What?”

Cloud won’t meet her gaze; he focuses on his blank notes, then Shera, before looking at the floor by her feet. “I shouldn’t have grabbed your hand. I was just thinking about getting to class.”

Finally, his eyes meet hers. There’s no more anger. The green around his pupils reminds her of the way the stars twinkled that night at the water tower. It makes her relax, some weight of today rolling off of her shoulders.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” He watches her for a moment with a brow raised and Tifa sighs. “Really. And thank you.”

The green flecks dance for only a second - the anger rises, then recedes. “If he messes with you again, I’m kicking his ass.”

Tifa bites the inside of her cheek to stifle a laugh, her lips curling into a small smile. His bluntness is so refreshing it catches her off guard. It seems ridiculous, but it’s so unlike the people here. Everyone plays their cards close to their chests, tightly guarding their secrets - everyone has an ulterior motive.

But not Cloud. Tifa isn’t sure if that’s just him or if most people from big cities are like that, but she’s grateful for it all the same.

“Please don’t do that.”

He harrumphs, but the corner of his mouth lifts. Tifa finds herself appreciating his smiles.

They don’t speak anymore for the rest of class, but Tifa glances his way every now and again. Cloud pays closer attention to the lecture, actually taking notes now, and she sneaks a peek. They’re pretty neat from what she remembers during tutoring, though he doodles in the margins and cram them up when he’s bored. She recalls when he drew her tattoo last week - at least she thought it was her tattoo - and her fingers glide underneath her hair to rest on the mark. When Cloud steals a look at her again, the heat rises in her face. She shifts in her seat, facing the courtyard.

That’s another difference she appreciates - the way he watches her isn’t with disdain. He’s not looking for the moment she slips up the way so many other students do, like a den of wolves ready to pounce. There’s concern in his eyes when they meet hers. It was there before when, but after spending that evening with him at the water tower, it’s only gotten stronger. Tifa wonders for a moment if he pities her - if seeing her scars made him even more cautious of how he deals with her.

No. As much as she prefers that to the alternative, Tifa doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want someone to be her friend out of pity. Perhaps she’ll bring it up at lunch.

When the bell rings, Tifa goes to close her notebook, but stares at the blank pages. She didn’t take a single note during this period. She’s never going to pass at this rate.

Cloud’s already standing with his backpack. Most of the students file out of the room, but some linger to watch the two of them. Cloud flowers in their general direction, and they flee.

Tifa raises a brow. “Are you my guard dog now?”

He scoffs, amusement etched into his features. Shera clears her throat, drawing them to the front of the room.

“I’m so glad you two are getting along better. Tifa, if you need any help catching up from last week, please let me know.”

Tifa shrugs her bag over her shoulder. “Thanks, Shera. I will.”

Shera sends them off with a wave. “Now get going before you’re late to your next class!”

Cloud doesn’t say much during their walk to gym class, but his presence is comforting enough. It’s staggering how much less daunting these halls are when she doesn’t have to roam them alone, when there’s someone by her side.

Especially when Cloud snarls at anyone who stares at her for too long.

Ironic, his name. He’s not a dark haze; maybe a little wild sometimes, like a storm, but for her he’s more of a gentle breeze. One that pushes the clouds away and makes her day more sunny and bearable. She’s the gloomy one.

What an odd pair they make - two lonely, strange kids, both outcasts in their own rights. Tifa crosses her arms, pushing those thoughts down. It doesn’t matter what they think. She has to tell herself that until she believes it.

When they reach the gym, Cloud stops.

“Meet you in the field?”

Tifa nods. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

His tiny smily doesn’t go unnoticed. Tifa carries that with her into the girls’ locker room - she knows she’ll need it.

As soon as the door slams shut behind her, her flame flickers. A crack runs down the side of her shield.Tifa shores up her defenses and keeps her eyes forward. She won’t look down anymore. Even if she has to chew on her tongue so her brain is occupied while she passes Priscilla’s row, so their giggles don’t invade her mind, she won’t let them break her again.

Tifa rounds the corner and has to fight to not sprint the short distance to her own locker. As her row filters out and the sounds of slamming doors and zipping bags gets duller, she rips her clothes out of her backpack and gets dressed. It’s not until only the echo of the heavy gym door ripples through the room that Tifa breathes. She stuffs her things into her locker, double checks it’s secure, then makes her way to the exit.

The student body president and her groupies are waiting for her.

“Are you alright, Tifa?”

Priscilla’s voice is unnaturally high; the grin on her face reminds Tifa of a clown. Tifa steels her nerve, looking past Priscilla and focusing on a dot on the wall.

“I’m fine. Just sick.” Tifa takes a step forward, but Priscilla throws her arm out and blocks the way. Her posse laughs.

“You were out for so long after just coming back, I was getting worried.”

Tifa turns her glare onto Priscilla, whose smile wavers under its intensity. Tifa’s fire burns brighter.

“What do you want?”

Priscilla repairs her grin with ease. “I’m just checking on a teammate. Oh,” she rolls her eyes, tittering, “ _ex_ -teammate. Such a shame you didn’t perform well enough for Corneo to let you back in.”

For a moment, Tifa feels weightless, like she’s missed a step but hasn’t hit the ground yet. The anticipation of falling shoots through her body and the urge to flee becomes damn near overwhelming, but she forces it down. Not again. Priscilla won’t win this time.

“Get out of my way.”

Her voice shakes. Priscilla catches it, always looking for any sign of weakness.

“I heard you were hanging out with Cloud _and_ Vincent this weekend. Are you fucking them both now? You sure move fast. I mean, wasn’t Vincent enough?”

The walls are much closer now than they were half a minute ago. The compression creates a vacuum and it becomes harder to breathe. Priscilla keeps going.

“Cloud’s only been here for a month, right? You _just_ came back last week. I hope you could pick up some extra Plan B--”

The flame explodes under the pressure.

Before she has time to comprehend what she’s doing, Tifa grabs Priscilla by her forearms and shoves her against the wall. The giggles cease. The shock on Priscilla’s face would make her laugh if it didn’t mirror her own, but Tifa keeps that within. The mask she puts up for now is one she wants Priscilla to remember —

Rage.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her eyes sting, but she focuses on her anger to keep them at bay. God, she hopes she doesn’t get into trouble for this; she hates being anywhere near Heidegger’s office. But this has to end.

“If you didn’t care so much about being on top, you’d see—” Tifa stumbles on the name as bile rises in her throat. She swallows it down. “You’d see the coach for what he is.”

Priscilla trembles under Tifa’s fingers. She lets the president go.

“Just leave me the fuck alone.”

Tifa doesn’t waste another second in the locker room with them. When the door thuds closed behind her, she slumps against the wall with her face in her hands. She has to collect herself before the other girls recover - their echoing trills to make sure Priscilla is okay cut through the door. Tifa counts; deep breaths even out her ragged panting after more than a dozen heartbeats. But it’ll have to do for now. She can hide her shaking hands under crossed arms.

Her class is closest to the girl’s locker room, making this a short walk. The first thing she sees is Cloud sitting in his row on the bleachers; the students are lining up for roll call. His brow furrows, his gaze trailing behind her as the other girls finally emerge from the locker room. Tifa finds her seat without a word and once everyone settles, O’Connor calls names. Cloud is by her side as soon as attendance is over and the students disperse.

“Tifa?”

Tifa can’t trust her voice to answer the questions that lie under her name, so she just nods as they head outside. She’s glad she held it together with Priscilla, but her mask is crumbling away. The sun is too bright; her head throbs and she digs her fingers into her sides.

Someone calls her name. A light pressure on her shoulder draws her out of her mask with reassuring promise - _you can come out, you’re okay._ When Tifa looks up, Cloud is still there; his fingers flex over her t-shirt, his eyes soft like the night sky, waiting for her answer. Tifa searches the rest of his face, frowning at how tight his jaw is.

Tifa closes her eyes and inhales, counts to three, then exhales.

“I’m okay.”

She steps from under Cloud’s hand. He drops his arm to his side.

“I keep doing that, huh?” He scratches the back of his head and pink colors his cheeks. “Sorry…”

“It helps,” she murmurs. The surprise on his face makes her flush, and she wants to smack it off. Tifa pouts, crossing her arms as she adds, “Don’t make a habit of it, alright?”

That fucking smirk - he catches the teasing lilt to her voice, something she hasn’t heard out of her own mouth in a while. He has no right to bring it out so easily. Tifa wants to be annoyed about it, maybe even a little alarmed, but she can’t bring herself to be.

It feels too good.

“Yes ma’am.”

Tifa’s first reaction is to stare at him, dumbfounded at how simple he makes everything seem. One minute she’s on the verge of panic, and the next, she and Cloud are exchanging playful banter.

This day is way too good to be true. The thought crawls up her spine as Vincent joins them on the field with a baseball and mitts, and her smile fades. The other shoe is going to drop, it has to. Nothing this nice can last.

Vincent throws one mitt to Cloud, pulling the other over his own hand. “Stick around?” He asks Tifa.

“Yeah.”

The smallest grin forms on Vincent’s lips as Cloud walks a few feet away. The boys settle into a rhythm after a few minutes. Other kids race each other across the field; some play with a football, others jog together in groups. Tifa stretches her palms, balling her hands in and out of fists to shake the dread that built up a few minutes ago. This isn’t nice - this is _normal_. She’s missed normal.

She fucking deserves normal.

“I know you’re just going to say you’re fine.”

Vincent’s deep rasp anchors her. She gives him her attention so he’ll continue.

“And I know you’re probably tired of people asking you this. But…” He glances down at her before tossing the ball. “You sure you’re okay? Coming back and everything…”

Tifa chews on her lip as she contemplates his question. Vincent knows everything _isn’t_ okay - he knows more than anyone else at this school does, which is enough to realize how difficult returning must be. This week won’t end up like last, however. She’s determined to stick it out. She just has to take it one day at a time. Tifa’s aware that everyday won’t be like today, which has been mostly good. She fidgets as a small group of girls gather to watch Cloud throw - if they’re looking at him, they’re watching her too. She has a lot of work to do so she can truly find any sense of peace or normalcy again, and everything doesn’t make her so damn nervous.

But this feeling she has right now being with two people she dares to consider friends, it’s addicting. Tifa wants to feel this kind of security and belonging more than anything, to bury it deep in her soul so no one can steal it away from her again.

“I’m trying, Vince.” The words feel good on her tongue because they’re true. “I’m trying so things can be okay.”

“That’s all you can do, Tifa. And just so you know… that’s enough.”

Tifa blinks at him, but he refuses to look at her now. She’s not sure she can trust her own ears - Vincent’s voice doesn’t quiver. Nothing shakes him. He’s so matter of fact, so objective, that his emotions never get the better of him. So hearing him let go just enough that she catches it touches her heart in a way she can’t comprehend.

Tifa told Lucrecia that she was afraid of finding out what Vincent really thought of her. Now she has an idea, and it brings her both calm and sadness; calm because knowing that he cares, that he considers her more than some makeout buddy (or worse) is soothing beyond measure, but sadness because she can now see that losing her would have affected him more than she thought.

Tifa brushes her hands down her shorts to get rid of the clamminess invading her palms. “Thank you,” she says once her mouth cooperates, though it’s too quiet for him to hear. When she spots the growing smile on his face, however, she knows he caught her words.

They don’t speak again for a while, but being next to him is enough. The girls are paying close attention to Cloud, including the one from the hallway earlier, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He was like this last week too; there’s an aura that surrounds him when he throws, one nothing can penetrate - it’s just him, the ball, and his opponent. There’s precision to his movements, and while Vincent is a decent pitcher, it’s a grace that Tifa’s only seen in Rufus before. Cloud must have pitched for a long time, maybe even as long as their star. It reminds her of the calm that used to wash over her when she was in the water. Every stroke second-nature, like breathing.

Could she ever return to that?

“You seem different today,” Vincent notes. Tifa hums in response and he raises a brow. “I saw you coming out of the locker room pretty late. Priscilla was right behind you.”

Vincent tilts his head to their left and Tifa spots the student body president across the field, leaning against the gate and surrounded by her loyal subjects. She’s yelling about something, but they’re too far away for her to make out any of the words. Even from over here, though, the demure looks on her posse’s faces are palpable as they fail to placate Priscilla.

“Something happen?”

Tifa stares for a few more seconds before turning her attention back to Cloud. The flame remains quiet for now - she’s not sure if Priscilla will keep her distance for the rest of the year or only for a day. What she knows is how full she is from the satisfaction that coils in her gut.

“I told her to fuck off. I think it’ll stick this time.”

A small huff escapes Vincent. “Welcome back.”

They spend the rest of gym in idle chatter and her mood lifts with each passing minute. Lucrecia was right - this isn’t easy and Tifa never expected it to be. But damn if normal isn’t underrated.

It’s thrilling. It’s… terrifying.

Tifa frowns at her sudden, warring emotions as she yanks her gym shirt over her head. Her body moves on autopilot as she recedes into her racing thoughts. Why is the prospect of getting closer to Vincent, of making friends with Cloud and Yuffie, so exhilarating and scary? 

Just like that, the high shrinks. Maybe she’s getting too comfortable too fast. She doesn’t want to wake up to discover that she’s actually drowning instead of floating.

_No. Don’t let the other shoe drop._

Her stomach churns, twisting itself into knots and suppressing her appetite as she leaves the locker room. The frightened part of her rises, begging her to flee - she doesn’t have to eat lunch with Cloud. It’s better to be alone than risk the hurt and disappointment of him betraying her one day.

In the breezeway, Vincent and Cloud chat. They haven’t spotted her yet. Her legs feel like lead, but there’s still time before they notice her—

She locks eyes with Cloud first. A smile curves his lips and he waves her over. Tifa clutches her bag as the lead dissolves, but it still takes several breaths for her to move. Vincent turns to her with that same content look from before. Neither of them have huge grins that take over their faces like Yuffie does, but the rush she gets from them being happy to see her makes her heart ache.

Tifa smiles back. It’s worth it, she decides.

“Hey,” Cloud greets once she joins them.

“Sorry.”

She glances between them, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Embarrassment powders her cheeks red. She has no reason to doubt them.

“Girls take longer to change, you know.”

Cloud nods. “We were wondering if you got lost in there.”

“Perhaps she was asserting her dominance over Priscilla again,” Vincent says, deadpan.

Tifa can’t stop the snort this time, biting her lip to keep from laughing any further. Cloud chuckles.

“It’s hard to tell when you’re joking sometimes, Vince.”

Vincent shrugs. “I’ve got errands to run. Enjoy lunch. I’ll see you in Literature, yeah?”

Tifa’s smile brightens. “Yeah. See you later.”

“Again?” Cloud asks once they're alone.

Tifa opens her mouth to answer, but pauses when she notices several students staring at them. Her fingers twitch against the strap of her bag. “I’ll tell you when we sit down.”

Cloud follows her around the gym to the parking lot. A pair of benches nestle against a gate; Tifa plops down on the one furthest from the lot. As she closes her eyes, the bench creaks under Cloud’s added weight, but he says nothing. Once she’s done grounding herself in the calming smell of the grass and the relative quiet around them, Tifa opens her eyes with a long sigh. Cloud watches her intently, but coughs into his hand when she catches him. Her cheeks grow hot. They both rummage around for their lunches.

“What do you have?” He asks, voice raising on the last word.

Tifa runs her palms up and down her lap to keep her lunchbox from slipping through her clammy fingers. The audacity of him to be jittery while making her nervous! She fishes for the contents of her bag, needing the distraction.

“A sandwich, some chips, and…” Tifa digs a little further. “Oh! Looks like Barret packed an apple too.”

“That’s cool.” His voice has returned to its normal tone, which helps her relax. Cloud pulls out a container.

“What that?”

“Leftovers. Shera made meatloaf the other night.”

Tifa hums, taking a delicate bite out of her sandwich. “That sounds delicious.”

“Yeah. She’s a good cook.” Cloud stabs at the very solid loaf. “You really should stay for dinner sometime.”

The heat returns to her face and she takes a bigger bite out of her sandwich. Shera and Cid have invited her to stay for dinner so many times, but Cloud asks and her heart pounds? What the hell is that about?

“You uhm…” She remains facing forward, unable to meet his gaze. “You didn’t want to heat that up first?”

Cloud falters. “Oh. I guess I didn’t think about that.”

The answer threatens to pull more snorting out of her, so Tifa occupies herself with her bag of chips. She can hear the confusion throughout his words and she knows if she looks at his face, she’ll be done for.

“Y-yeah. There’s a microwave in the cafeteria.”

“How’d I never see that before…?” Cloud finally wrestles a corner of meatloaf out of the container, but there’s a beat before he raises his fork to his lips. “You laughing at me?”

“Mm-mm!” Tifa shakes her head, stuffing her mouth with chips.

“Right.”

They enjoy the silence for a little while, the only sounds being their chewing and the distant ruckus of their peers. The courage to face him returns.

“So, you pitch?”

Cloud swallows before answering. “Yeah. I started when I was… twelve, I think.”

He takes another bite and Tifa wonders if he doesn’t mind it cold.

“Mom thought putting me in summer camp would keep me out of trouble.”

“Did it?”

Cloud leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he eats. “It helped, yeah. I liked it, so I focused a lot more time on practicing instead of picking fights.”

“That’s good.”

His brow pinches, the corners of his mouth sinking. She saw that look this weekend at the water tower - he’s wrestling with something. She doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

His voice is quiet and slow as he asks, “What about you. And… swimming?”

Tifa bites down hard on her sandwich and winces at the pain the radiates through her jaw. Cloud sits up straight, opening his mouth to apologize. Tifa waves her hand, stopping him.

“I started swimming when I was really young. Maybe five or six.”

This silence isn’t as pleasant. She doesn’t meet his eyes and from her periphery, Tifa can tell Cloud can’t look at her either. In all honesty, however, Tifa is shocked at herself for answering, for allowing them to broach the subject even that tiny bit. She can’t offer any more than that, and she’s grateful Cloud doesn’t ask. 

“Thanks.”

She isn’t sure why he’s thanking her, not a first. A glance reveals the small smile threatening to breach his lips. Perhaps he realizes how hard it was for her to talk about it, and in that moment, Tifa realizes she’s _comfortable_ with Cloud. He doesn’t scare her or make the alarms in her head go off. He’s tried hard to connect with her, and even though she hasn’t always shown it, Tifa appreciates that more than she can express. Maybe her behavior tells him enough - letting him stay with her in her safe place, inviting him to her quiet lunch spot. She’s cracking the door open to let him in, and he’s thanking her for trusting him with so much. She should be the one thanking him, but Cloud changes the subject before she can.

“I was serious about my tutoring offer earlier.”

Tifa exhales. “Yeah… Math went over my head today.”

“Okay. If you have time, I can tutor you every day this week to get you caught up.”

Tifa nearly chokes on her chips. “No, Cloud, that’s too much. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

He shrugs - his way of showing indifference, she’s noticed. “I really don’t. All I do after school most days is work on an old car and play guitar.” He frowns. “I should get more hobbies…”

“You play guitar?”

Cloud runs a hand through his hair before putting his tupperware away. “Been playing that for a long time, too.”

The last bit of her sandwich gone, Tifa stuffs her container into her bag as well. Cloud shares so many similarities with Fenny it’s almost scary. Maybe that’s why she’s so comfortable with him…

Tifa pushes that thought away before it leads down a rabbit hole that will surely make her emotional - lots of guys play baseball and guitar. She misses her friend, but she knows that she shouldn’t compare them and try to imagine Cloud as someone he’s not. It wouldn’t be fair to him and their friendship. She files the fact away for later.

“If it’s really not too much trouble…”

Cloud huffs to hold in a more exasperated sigh. “It’s not or I wouldn’t offer, Tifa.”

“Right.” Tifa tangles her hand through her hair, shifting most of it over her shoulder to hide her face. His kindness is overwhelming, and she’s grateful for it, but it’s going to take some getting used to.

She looks forward to the change.

Tifa looks around to distract herself and forget about the stupid grin that wants to eat her face. Her eyes settle on a group emerging from one of the gym’s side doors: Coach Corneo, Priscilla, and another girl from the swim team.

Everything she’d tried to let go of slams into her like a ton of bricks.

Something claws up her from her stomach to clutch her heart and squeeze. Tifa leans over and gasps, dropping her chips, her arms snaking around her middle.

“Tifa?”

Cloud’s voice is far away and garbled like she’s underwater. Everything blurs and becomes out of focus except for _them_. They’re too close. _He’s_ too close, too close, and Tifa realizes with a sickening horror that they’re getting closer.

Her next breath is a loud rasp - _they’re going to hear her_ \- and rattles in her chest. The ache in her heart spreads, crawling up her throat and escaping her lips as a whimper. Her fingers tremble as they slide under her sleeve and dig into the skin of her other arm, but the pain doesn’t bring her down. The world around her expands until she’s dizzy, then constricts so much she thinks she’s going to explode from the pressure.

Her surroundings change - she’s moving, though Tifa doesn’t recall getting up. The little group gets farther away. She turns her head inch by inch, and before she knows it, she’s up against a wall. All she can see in front of her are piercing blue eyes.

_Eyes like the night sky._

Cloud’s mouth is moving, but the words make little sense. It’s not until he’s pulled her down and pushed her head between her knees that sounds flood back in like normal.

“You gotta breathe, Tifa.”

Tifa blinks and follows his instructions, wrapping her arms around her legs and pressing her forehead against her knees. She inhales slowly, then coughs. The shaking gets worse. She can’t get in control - she needs something, anything to bring her down, but there’s nothing she can use to open her skin and make her plummet back to earth. Her mind wanders to the parking lot—

_Gross, harsh panting above her, pain throbbing through numb limbs. His grip is too tight, fat fingers pinning her down, so grotesque, but she’s frozen. She can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t—_

“Tifa. Breathe. It’s okay.”

Light pressure on her back moves up and down in a soothing rhythm. The urge to sync her breathing with the sensation takes over. One breath, then another. Something folds around one of her hands. When Tifa glances over her knee, she sees Cloud’s fingers intertwining with hers. She focuses on that. He has callouses, probably from guitar and baseball, but his embrace is warm. He squeezes when he notices she’s staring at their hands, and Tifa hiccups before inhaling to steady herself. He’s wearing his brace today, and dangling from his wrist is a bracelet that seems familiar, like something she’s seen in a store before.

“Tifa?”

She looks up. Cloud’s face is marred with fear, his jaw clenched so tight she’s surprised she can’t hear his teeth grinding. He’s holding something back, but it’s a detail that immediately flies to the back of her mind.

Tifa gulps, exhales, inhales, then squeezes his hand back. “Th-thank you.”

Tifa lets go first. Cloud follows her head. She rests her forehead between her knees again, unable to maintain eye contact. His concern both excites and terrifies her. He barely knows her, but he’s so willing to help all the time.

_“Some people want to help those they see themselves in.”_

Lucrecia told her that last week. Cloud has said more than once that he understands her. When Tifa glances up again, Cloud is still watching for any further signs of distress.

“I’m okay now.” Tifa leans back against the wall and closes her eyes. Her breathing evens out. “I’m sorry for freaking out.”

Her voice comes out quieter than she means for it too, but it’s safer this way - no one will hear them and discover her being a complete mess.

Tifa puts her chin on her knees and squeezes them tighter. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“Don’t… apologize.”

His mouth is set in a firm line, the words barely escaping. Tifa straightens up and watches him. He’s fiddling with his bracelet, frustrated, but not with her. At least, she doesn’t think so. His eyes dart toward her and because he’s so close, she notices the green flecks around his pupils and how they flash so brightly with anger. It startles her that he’s so upset. Tifa again wonders why he cares this much.

Then her eyes widen when she realizes how much he’s likely put together.

Priscilla’s words.

Her comment about a mistake.

Her freaking out about Corneo… again.

Cloud’s eyes soften. “Tifa, are you sure you’re okay?”

She gulps painfully, scrambling to get up and dusting herself off. There’s more to his question - Cloud wants to make sure she’s okay enough to finish out the day, but underneath that, Tifa gets the sense that he wonders if she’ll be able to finish out the year at this rate.

Honestly, she’s still not sure.

The other shoe cracks her resolve as it slams her back to reality.

“I-I need to get my stuff. The bell for next period—”

The high pitched droning cuts her off right on time. Tifa turns on her heel and walks around to find the benches again. She’s not sure where Cloud led her, but she knows the school grounds well enough to navigate back to their lunch area. Cloud isn’t far behind, staying close enough to keep an eye out, but not enough to crowd her. Tifa hides her shaking hands by moving with haste, tossing her things in her bag and throwing her trash away. She can’t face him, not with that pitying look in his eyes.

“Thanks again. I need to get to Literature.”

“Tifa.”

She yanks her backpack on and turns toward him, chancing a view of his eyes. They’re not angry anymore, but sad and longing. She gnaws on her lip to keep it from quivering.

Cloud scratches the back of his head. “I… should get your number. For tutoring?”

Tifa lets out a long sigh. “Oh. Yeah.” She takes his phone and quickly punches her number in before shoving it back in his hands. “I’ll see you later.”

The walk to Literature is long and lonely. Even though it’s only been a day, Tifa had gotten used to Cloud’s protective presence next to her in the halls. Combined with her frayed nerves, the glimpses she catches from the other students feel even more intrusive, causing her to speed up. The bell rings as she walks into class, and Ms. Scarlet clicks her teeth.

“Ms. Lockhart, you’re almost late. Hope you weren’t putting in any _extra work_ with another teacher to make up for your absence last week.”

Chills travel down Tifa’s spine as a couple of students snicker at Scarlet’s remark. She chews on her lip even harder, blinking away the tears, focusing on her desk to avoid Vincent’s concerned stare. When she reaches into her bag to take her textbook out, her phone lights up. Scarlet turns around to being her lecture, so Tifa checks the message. It’s from an unknown number.

**hey. its cloud strife.**

Tifa makes a mental note to save his number after class. She’s about to drop it back into her backpack when another message comes through.

**i hope you feel better.**

Tifa lets her phone fall into her backpack before turning to the proper chapter for today’s lesson. The lecture is a buzz underneath her swimming thoughts. The thought of Cloud knowing as much as he does in such a short time makes it difficult to concentrate on her textbook; she reads the same passage three times before giving up and pretending to take notes.

One thing she’s wanted the most in her short life is someone she can trust, who will be there for her through all the bullshit and won’t judge her. She had that once, but she ruined it.

Tifa gulps down hard, the discomfort jolting her out of the past. No point dwelling on that now. It’s over and done.

Maybe she was right before. The pain of loneliness might be easier to swallow than the despair she saw reflected at her at lunch. She can’t stand getting hurt, but she hates the thought of inflicting that kind of pain on someone again even more.

At this rate, she’s going to slam the door shut on Cloud just as soon as she’s cracked it open. But maybe it’s for the better.

Her phone makes her entire bag vibrate. Her eyes dart around to make sure no one noticed before she pulls it out again. She’s not listening anyway.

**just know you can talk to me. ill always listen.**

She reads the messages several times as if it’ll change. When the words remain the same, Tifa lets out a long sigh.

She believes him. He’s proven over and over again that she can.

Tifa types a message back, then turns her phone off. The last thing she wants is Scarlet catching her with her phone and having another reason to call her out in front of everyone.

**thanks for everything today. ill meet you at shera’s classroom after class.**

She won’t let anyone take the joy she felt today away from her - not even herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks always for your support and awesome words of encouragement everyone. It really gets me through each chapter and on to the next.


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